


The Dragon’s Way or None

by DanyKinkFic



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, American Politics, Anti-Hero, Arrested Development references, Bathtub Sex, Beating, Body Worship, Boot Worship, Bottom Jon Snow, Breathplay, Brutal Murder, Cock & Ball Torture, Collars, Cunnilingus, Dark, Dark Jon Snow, Dominatrix, Domme Daenerys, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evil Daenerys, Evil Dany, Execution, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Sitting, Female Anti-Hero, Female Masturbation, Femdom, Fratricide, Gas Mask Kink, Genital Torture, God Complex, Graphic Description, Gun Kink, Hamilton References, Heavy BDSM, Impact Play, Jekyll and Hyde, Jonerys AU Fest, LSD, Leashes, Medical Kink, Memory Alteration, Mind Control, Mindfuck, Minor Character Death, Modern Royalty, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Daenerys, POV Death, POV Jon Snow, POV Murderer, Past Sexual Abuse, Porn With Plot, Queen Daenerys, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religion Kink, Revenge Sex, Ritual Sex, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sadistic Female Character, Sensory Deprivation, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest, Sodium Pentathol, Spiritual, Stockholm Syndrome, Sybians, Torture, Villain Dany, Villains, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-08 23:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 143,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12264447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyKinkFic/pseuds/DanyKinkFic
Summary: After years living under the constant shadow of her father’s crimes, Daenerys is ready to cast some shadows of her own. Her darkness spreads its wings, and consumes what it will.Jonerys femdom featuring a complicated but mostly Evil!Dany set in a modern AU, involving fictional political scenarios in the United States and elsewhere.Porn with plot.





	1. Prologue: Jon I

**Author's Note:**

> Same cautionary note as one of my other fics: **_This fic is dark as shit._** This version of Dany is complicated, to say the least, with a Jekyll and Hyde personality that leans strongly toward Hyde. She does very bad things to Jon and others, against their will, because that’s what gets her rocks off. Including physical, sexual and psychological torture. There is some oddly sweet romance between her and Jon, but it's also _**deeply**_ fucked up and unhealthy. It is designed to _**both**_ turn you on, _**and**_ disturb you. If those two things are mutually exclusive for you, which is totally valid and understandable, this is probably not your fic. Consider that fair warning.
> 
> Also, there are links scattered throughout many of the chapters. Most of them are visuals of the clothes, and various torture implements. Some of them are mildly amusing Easter eggs.
> 
> **Additional Author’s Note** : I don’t respond to “why do you hate Jon Snow” comments. It's a story, dude. You don't have to like it, but that little bar at the top of your browser can take you _anywhere else in the world_.
> 
> While her only real love interest in Jon, Dany fucks a lot of people in this story (mostly while torturing them). For ease of reference, I'm including a guide to who appears in a smut capacity in each chapter:
> 
> 1 (Prologue): NO SMUT  
> 2: Dany/Kraznys, Dany/Daario  
> 3: Dany/Jon  
> 4: Dany/Jon  
> 5: Dany/Daario, Dany/Jon, Dany/Daario/Jon  
> 6: Dany/Jon, Dany/Viserys  
> 7: Dany/Jon, Dany/Jon/Margaery  
> 8: Dany/Missandei, Dany/Yara, Dany/Doreah  
> 9: Dany/Jaime  
> 10: NO SMUT (oddly)  
> 11: Dany/Jon  
> 12: Dany/Cersei, Dany/Cersei/Jaime  
> 13: Dany/Jon  
> 14: (Potential spoiler if I told you)  
> 15: Dany/Jon, Dany/Tyrion  
> 16: Dany/Yara
> 
>  
> 
> She also has a couple of servants she calls upon at times.

“Marry _me_ , then.” Dany grinned playfully at Jon. They both knew that was ridiculous, but Jon did have to marry someone and pop out a kid in the next two years. Otherwise, he'd been told, his numbers would dip with women over forty. “Why not?”

 _Well..._ Jon laughed and lit his cigarette. “I can think of many reasons.” As could anyone who’d paid attention in History class.

“I know.” Her voice still carried just enough of that WASP-y New England accent to make FDR sound like trailer trash, especially when she took one of her many dry, seething digs at her father. “Daddy strikes again.” _Like that one._

Aerys Targaryen was the most vile human being to ever occupy the White House; no one in either party denied that. Daenerys was a child when his presidency hit its abrupt and shameful end, and no one blamed her for what happened, but her last name made her simply too toxic for a man like Jon to associate with in public. So he associated with her in private from time to time, when their schedules coincided. Their association would be a scandal if word got out, but Dany was very good at associating, so he took the risk.

Jon pined for the days when nobody knew or cared who the fuck he was. Cajoled by his friend Sam into launching a US Senate campaign, he nonetheless found that when he spoke, people listened. So he kept speaking, and people kept listening, until he unseated a 40-year incumbent. Then he started “trending.” Now, it was common knowledge among Berkeley students and NPR listeners, of which Jon himself was neither, that he would easily win the presidency next year, and make everyone shit rainbows and bunny rabbits forever. A blurry picture of him smoking a cigarette, let alone with a woman like Dany, would poison the bunny rabbits. Hence how they ended up on the roof of the JW Marriott in Washington, leaning against a wall in the most dimly lit corner they could find.

Even without the scandal, Jon had no business fucking this woman. His ancestors settled in Minnesota presumably because they lost some sort of bet. Hers came over on the literal fucking _Mayflower_ , and once had a claim to the throne of England, until one of them said “fuck it” and become a Puritan. That Puritan’s grandson moved to Boston and begat a line of increasingly rich merchants, who begat a line of oil tycoons, who begat a governor of Connecticut and later a president, who begat Daenerys and her two brothers. One died when his rolodex failed to move the mountain he flew his plane into. The other was a coked-up man-child.

The Targaryens were Republicans, naturally, and precisely the sort of people Democrats pointed to as everything wrong with the world. When they were shut out of elected office, they returned to the bribes and threats that made them so powerful to begin with. When their oil wells dried up, they persuaded the government to fetch it from other countries at gunpoint, and sold them the guns to do it.

He sometimes wondered what this woman could have become, had her family not been so terrible. Her story was well-known, and the subject of many _Wall Street Journal_  puff pieces. Dany had barely finished partying her way through Harvard Business School when Aerys mercifully dropped dead, leaving her, as his only competent child, in charge of the family business. The retired generals at the massive military contractor despised their new 22-year-old overlord, who had shrieked like a toddler all through the one time she played paintball.

To her credit, Dany knew she was in way over her head. She let the old guard run things at first and immersed herself everything about the company, learning far more than any MBA could teach her, and blossoming into a shark in the boardroom. Five years in, she’d earned at least the grudging respect of everyone who mattered, having ousted the opposition, or bought them off, or fucked them in court, or, shockingly enough, proved that she actually did know what the fuck she was doing. Now, five years after that, the options for those who answered to Daenerys were to love her, fear her, or never find work again. _And here you are, some goober from Bumfuck Nowhere, with her stank all over you. Give yourself some credit._

Like everyone, Rs and Ds alike, Jon quietly took her money without embracing her publicly. But after what Dany insisted was a chance encounter, she took it upon herself to embrace him, with her throat, in the bathroom of a Capitol Hill steakhouse. Coincidentally, this was hours before a vote on how to divvy the half a trillion dollars budgeted for defense. Jon got the best two and a half minutes of his life, Dany got a few billion dollars to add to the pile, and so began one of the most fucked up affairs in a city where fucked up affairs were almost mandatory.

 _Deep down, she's a good person_ , he told himself often. He was 99% sure that wasn't bullshit. Otherwise, why did she give so much money to Democrats? _She's playing both sides so she wins no matter what, you idiot,_ his cynical side reminded him. _Fine, 95% sure._

“Can I confess something?” Jon finally asked.

“Of course.” The excitement in her smile threw him off a bit, but he continued.

“I have no desire to do any of this.”

Dany cackled.

“I mean it!” And he did.

“You’re putting an awful lot of effort into something you don’t want.”

And he was. “It’s not about what I want. The country needs someone who isn’t a thousand years old or a psychopath.”

Dany stole his cigarette and took a drag. “I’m well under a thousand.” Her smile was adorable and deeply creepy at the same time, like she was standing on the edge of a clearing, daring him to chase her so deep into the forest that only she could lead him out.

“Stop with the jokes about how terrible you are.” They really were getting on his nerves. “Aerys was your father. _You're_ Dany. And politics aside, the Dany I know is a decent person.” He paused. _This is quite possibly the stupidest thing you’ll ever say._ “Hell, maybe we should get--”

She shot that right the fuck down, for which he was thankful. “It wouldn't work, Jon. ‘Politics aside,’ you know Charity Ball Dany and Hotel Room Dany. You’ve never met Work Dany.”

“I think I have,” he smirked, “in that bathroom.”

“No.” Dany could go uncannily fast from teasing smile to purple-eyed 'piss yourself’ stare. “That was Suck Your Dick In A Bathroom Dany. I _wanted_ to do that. It was entirely unrelated to the vote.” _Right, yes, of course,_ though her tone suggested neither a joke nor a lie.

“Well, Work Dany may be a bit of a tax cheat,” he smiled, “but you're still--”

Dany shook her head. “You don't understand.” It suddenly got cold.

He flicked his cigarette butt off the roof. “Well, maybe someday I'll meet her.”

That got no response; only a change in subject. “We should leave, before somebody comes up here.” She took both of his hands in hers, leaned up, and kissed him.

“Fair enough.” He held her hand and made slowly for the propped-open door.

Dany nuzzled him as they walked, then looked up. “Are you still going to Baghdad next month?”

“I am,” Jon replied dryly. "They need pictures of me in a Kevlar vest.” He’d forgotten to take pictures the last thousand times he'd worn a Kevlar vest, as he was too busy doing things that actually required a Kevlar vest. “Will I see you before I leave?”

“No,” Dany smiled. “But you might see me when you get there.”


	2. Daenerys I

Fifty men took a knee at once as Daenerys Stormborn entered her hangar, in a far corner of the Baghdad airport. _Too slow_. Their rifles and gear made kneeling more laborious than usual. _No excuse. Too slow._ Ostensibly, Dany was in Iraq to inspect her company's work on security and reconstruction efforts, as she did frequently enough for the government to pay for her house in Baghdad. In truth, her business was far more important. _Work Dany, in all her glory,_ as only a city this lawless could bring out.

Dany made a mental note to address the sluggishness later, and strode deliberately toward her captain. She grabbed his arm before he noticed her, and her soft, manicured hand made him jump a bit. _Mmm._ Sometimes it was the little things she enjoyed most.

“Bring me what I want,” Daenerys warned him, her eyes pulling his head around by sheer force of will. “Or pray I don’t find you.”

For a moment, the most smug and loquacious man she’d ever met was a deer in the headlights. _Good._ Most of the time, she let him get away with fearing her less than he should, but this was not most of the time. Her deep, purple eyes had a way of freezing men like liquid nitrogen.

She was all of five feet three inches tall, still dressed in her leggings and training jacket with her company’s three-headed dragon logo, sweaty and red-faced from her afternoon run. Her silver hair was pulled back in a mess of a ponytail, but the awe and terror she struck in people came from the very essence of her being, not some costume.

“I will,” Daario finally promised, a smirk blossoming on his face. “I always do.” _So far._

“And you always get your reward, as you did last night.” _With the bite marks to prove it._ The memory made him grin like an idiot. “But until you prove yourself again, you’re back to being nothing to me.” His smile gave way to the proper humility, which made Dany squeeze his forearm tighter. “Find this man, Daario Naharis. _Make something_ of your life.”

Dany finally broke her gaze as the Blackhawk helicopters on the tarmac started their engines. The high-pitched whine was too loud to finish her threat with words. She pulled his head toward hers and kissed him, softly at first. _Remind him why he serves you._ Then harder. _And why he should serve you well._ She growled and sank her teeth into his lower lip, holding him there until she tasted blood, then a bit longer while she sucked it into her mouth. _And why he should fear you worse than death itself._

A man from the ground crew stood at the edge of the hangar, motioning toward the Blackhawks. “Captain! Sir!” Dany finally released Daario’s arm and gave him one last menacing stare to chase him toward the tarmac.

Daario was not, in fact, a captain of anything. His formal title was Project Manager for Targaryen Security Solutions™, a wholly owned subsidiary of Targaryen Holdings, LLC, itself a wholly owned subsidiary of Daenerys Targaryen personally. _Because nothing feels better than to wholly own your subsidiaries._ Nonetheless, “Captain” had a better ring to it, and would have been his rank had he stayed a Marine, so Dany allowed him to use it, as she did for the former enlisted men joining him on the mission, now with titles like Consulting Technician and Client Support Specialist.

Another thing he most certainly was not, in case any congressmen asked, was a mercenary. Congress outlawed those in 1893, and according to her testimony before the Senate Armed Services Committee, Dany had nothing but the utmost respect for federal law. Daario and her other men merely provided “augmentative security services for designated Important Persons,” in accordance with their contract. As a former First Daughter and the sole owner of the company that owned that contract, Dany had been properly designated an Important Person, and somewhere near Sulaymaniyah, about 30 miles from the Iran-Iraq border, was a man she found inconvenient. _Which requires augmentative security services. Duh._

Daario ordered his men to follow him toward the tarmac, and gave Dany one last look as he stood at the threshold of the hangar, like a sad, scared puppy. She blew him a kiss and give him a sideways, 'don’t fuck this up' smile.

 _Pray you fight better than you kneel,_ she thought, as the men followed their captain. And they would. Dany only hired the best, and her company’s training regimen was as strict as anything a real military could devise. She watched the men board their helicopters-- _her_ helicopters, really. _You all fight for me, and nothing else. Every last one of you._  That was the first lesson of her training regimen; a lesson reinforced daily, until her soldiers had forgotten they’d ever served another purpose.

The blades started to turn, and Dany watched as they took to the air one by one. When they’d all disappeared into the desert sky, she returned by motorcade to her residence downtown, a few blocks from the American embassy. It was modest by her standards, but sprawling by Baghdad's, with a well-kept pool, a manicured lawn, high walls, and a basement.

The basement was her favorite part. Soundproof, with no natural light, as she'd insisted. Daenerys was discreet about what she did down there, but that was mostly courtesy. Fear of consequences was rare in her world. But she needed a place where light, sound, air, water, and everything else were hers alone to control. Where she could be a lurking shadow, or a thousand reflections of God Herself; an omnipresent voice in an empty abyss, or a silent, crippling pain that melts its victims to nothing by its mere existence. Sometimes she wished she didn’t need that, but it was too easy to be a tyrant in this country, and the fruits were too sweet to refuse. In Baghdad, she needn’t pretend to have equals, and whatever she held back in America would burst from the darkest parts of her soul as soon as she touched the ground.

Dany arrived at her residence and slept soundly, confident the murders in her name would be done well, and awoke to a servant opening her drapes. Drape Girl, as Dany called her, was an Iraqi no older than twenty, though Dany made a point of never asking her real name or age. Her family had all been killed, probably by the bomb that paid for those drapes. _And she can go five minutes on a Sybian without crying,_ up from two when she first took the girl from the refugee camp. But that was all she knew. Dany’s first act as savior was to summarily burn her passport, the last written proof of a life before. _All that’s left is to rape away the memories._

Drape Girl’s “uniform,” so to speak, was a pink silk [Agent Provocateur kimono](https://imgur.com/Hxfj151) with black piping; the belt always tied loosely, disposable with a single effortless tug. Daenerys chose it exclusively so could use her bedroom girls at will, wasting minimal time on frivolities like bra hooks and consent. A pronged metal dog collar with the clasp soldered shut wrapped tight around her neck, to remind her what she was, and so Daenerys could leash and tether and ruin her neck when she pleased.

“Is he here?” She sat up.

The girl only nodded, as she’d learned the consequences of speaking too loudly before Dany had her espresso.

“Good.” She smiled, because she loved watching her fucktoys torture themselves trying to decipher it. “Get him ready.”

After the requisite espresso, and a scroll through the _Wall Street Journal_ on her iPad, Dany showered and dressed for her date. A simple black t-shirt to hide a whorish black corset, matching panties, dark jeans because they were more comfortable than leather, and knee-high [Louboutin boots](https://imgur.com/A6ZMbXq); block heels, because they were more comfortable than stilettos. And [cute pink ankle socks](https://imgur.com/VVNZdFx) with kitty cats on them, because she fucking felt like it.

She slid a switchblade into her back pocket, and met Daario at the top of the basement stairs. He shut the thick metal door and followed her down, carrying his rifle, just in case.

The room had a concrete floor with a large, rectangular grate in the center made of thin rows of sharpened metal, to drain whatever liquids might be spilled, and to make it excruciating to stand barefoot for extended periods. Lining the walls were some of her many toys, and drawers for storing hardware; a few of which actually contained some. Track lighting hung from the ceiling; fluorescent lights, halogen lights, blacklights, stage lights, and a spotlight in one corner.

The man had been stripped naked and strapped to a wooden chair, by ropes wrapped around his arms just below the elbow, and his legs just below the knee. A chain dangled between the manacles on his wrists, each clipped to a half-inch-thick metal cable strung up to the ceiling through a pulley. A metal bar had been strapped between his ankles, to keep him from opening or closing his legs. Duct tape sealed his mouth shut, and a nice bright halogen lamp shined inches away from his face, hanging by an adjustable arm her men had looted from a dental clinic.

Dany stood over him from behind the light, so he could sense her presence but nothing more. She tickled his knee, which made him gasp and spasm. _Good, they got him ready._ She pushed the light up toward the ceiling, then smiled almost politely and tore off the duct tape, just as the captive regained his sight.

“You’re Kraznys mo Nakloz?”

He spat between her feet and growled in Arabic. “Fuck you, infidel whore.”

 _That’s all you’ve got?_ Dany rolled her eyes, spat back in his face, and smacked him. “You think I don’t know you went to Cambridge?” _Always google a man before you torture him._ “Speak English!”

Kraznys stayed silent for a moment, in what Dany surmised was an attempt to preserve his dignity, then grudgingly switched to English, as if he had a choice. “You’re CIA? Mossad?”

She laughed. “You’ll figure it out. Do you have a heart condition?” She didn’t want him dying on her before the good part.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?!”

“I strongly advise you to answer the question.”

“No!”

 _You should have lied._ “Good.”

Dany turned and strode casually toward the wall directly in front of him. She bent down and opened a cupboard, mockingly stuck her ass out like the slutty secretary in every porn movie, and procured a metal funnel, a bottle of water, and a small bottle of Viagra.

“Open up,” she commanded, on her way back.

The poor schmuck wouldn’t open up, so she rested her implements between his legs and drove a heel down onto his toes, omitting the usual comment about her boots being worth more than his life. Kraznys might actually prove valuable, and the heels were only seventy millimeters, which knocked about a hundred bucks off the price, and she didn’t feel like doing the math. He clenched his teeth and screamed, still trying to keep his mouth shut, because he had yet to comprehend how fucked he was.

Dany sighed and twisted a nipple, opening his jaw just enough to ram the funnel between his teeth and toss in the Viagra. “Don’t make me say things twice,” she warned. “It makes me rather unpleasant.” Next came the water. Dany turned the funnel upward, using the tip as a tongue depressor, to force his throat open.

When she could tell he’d swallowed most of the pills, she removed the funnel and put it back in the cupboard. The water bottle went in a blue recycling bin, because The Environment. Resting on two hooks in the wall was a cattle prod, which she brought back with her, along with a rolling desk chair.

“Those will take a few minutes,” Dany explained, as she sat directly in front of him. She teased him a bit with the tip of the prod, running the prongs up his throat on either side of his windpipe, feeling herself stirring as he squirmed. “While we’re waiting, tell me about the drugs.”

“Go home, American CIA scum!”

 _Still, with this?_ “I confess, the CIA is paying me quite a bit of money to find you.” Dany pressed her foot down on the bar between his legs. “But I’m not an employee.” She smiled and pressed the cattle prod under his cheekbone. “Which is fortunate, because the CIA has a very strict policy against things like this.” She pushed the trigger, and loosed the voltage into his face. Kraznys yelped and convulsed, and tears welled up in his eyes. _Mmmm. More._ Another shock, to the other cheekbone. More yelping, more convulsing, more tears. She pressed harder on the bar to keep him from falling back and cracking his skull open. “They'd make me fly you to another jurisdiction for that.”

Another stream of volts, under the chin, because watching a man sob like a bitch had a lubricating effect on her. _Stop fighting what you are. Break him. Ruin him._

Daenerys sat back and crossed her legs, lazily tapping the cattle prod against her thigh. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, tell me about the drugs.”

“I don’t--”

She scoffed and prodded him again in the chest. “Of course you do. You’ve got the biggest militia in a thousand mile radius, but you never say a _word_ about religion. Why?” She crushed his foot under her boot heel again. “Because growing rich off the destitute selling God takes time,” she explained over his grunting screams. _And the market’s a bit saturated here._

“You don’t strike me as a patient man,” Dany continued. “You prefer a quicker route to wealth. And I sympathize with that, believe me.” Another shock with the prod, this time on his inner thigh, dangerously close to his cock. The volts made it twitch, which made Dany tingle. “I promise, I won’t send you back to America. Answer my questions, and I might actually do something to help you.”

“No, you won’t.” _No, you’re right, I probably won’t. But never say never._

“You’ve just met me,” Dany reminded him, after another shock to the arm. “You have no idea what I would or would or wouldn’t do. So _talk._ ” She shoved the prod between his teeth the instant he opened his mouth, freezing him. _That would kill him,_ she knew, as did he. _Would I, or wouldn’t I?_ “Or would you like a review of the salient distinctions between me and the CIA?”

Kraznys shook his head, and Dany removed the cattle prod.

“Cocaine! Heroin!” _Look at you, learning already._ “We bring it in from Iran!”

“Better. What else do you sell?”

His face lost a bit of its color. Dany couldn’t help but smile. _Go on, say it._ “Women.”

“Women?!” Dany guffawed. “No, no, no. _Women_ have tits and periods.” She took out the switchblade and opened it in between his knees. “Would you like me to show you what a period looks like?”

The viagra had begun to work, and much to his surprise and lament, Kraznys’s cock slowly lifted itself awake.

Dany’s eyes lit up. “Is that a yes?!” She slid the tip of the blade up his thigh.

“No, no, no! Girls!” Kraznys seemed to have given up on dignity. _Good._ “I sell girls!”

“Much better.” Though she slid the knife further anyway. “How much do you pay your men?”

He closed his eyes and squirmed. “One thousand American every month!”

 _Decent money here._ She put the knife back in her pocket and sat back. “See? That wasn’t so bad. You’ll get out of the child whore business, I think that goes without saying.” _If you must be a monster, be a good monster._ There was that harem upstairs, of course, and the irony was not lost on her. But those were grown women. _It’s different, anyway. He can stop himself._ In a way, she envied him for that.

“And,” Daenerys went on, “as you may have guessed, the profits from the rest of it are mine. You and your militia will carry on your business, but from now on, you work for me. If you’re a good subordinate, I’ll give you a generous allowance; more than enough to maintain your current lifestyle.”

She dug her heel into his foot again, and watched his face. Kraznys wanted to cry, but struggled mightily to stop himself. She narrowed her eyes, stomped, and the struggle was lost. _Good boy. Don’t you fucking stop crying._ “Have I offended you? In America, it’s a great honor for a company like mine to acquire you.”

He looked at her sideways. Dany could see the wheels turning in his mind. _Come on, how many people look like me?_

She sighed. “I don’t think you appreciate the deal you’re getting. I’m letting you keep your job, which means at some point I’ll let you out of this room. I don’t normally include that in my starting offer.”

Kraznys sucked some snot back up his nose. “Please...” _And the begging begins._ An evil grin came to Dany’s face, and she planted the cattle prod directly over his heart.

“Please _what?_ ”

“Tell me who you are!”

“You still don’t know?” Dany gave him an exaggerated frown. “I’m sad.” She shocked him in the face again. “A little insulted, frankly.” And again, in the abdomen. “Millennials _crave_ personal validation.”

“I’m sorry! Please! Tell me!”

“Fine, I’ll give you a hint.” She made her voice deeper to mimic her father. “They’re animals over there. Just burn them all!” Aerys Targaryen was paranoid, narcissistic, and stupid enough to record every conversation he had in the Oval Office. That wasn’t the line that did him in, but it was vividly remembered in this part of the world, as they were the supposed “animals.”

His face went pale again as he finally noticed the resemblance. Dany noticed a steady pulse in his growing cock, and giggled.

“I promise you, though,” she continued, her own heart beginning to race, “I’m not like him at all. I’ve learned a very important lesson from my father’s war crimes.” She stood, kicked the chair behind her, and backhanded him. “Never tape your war crimes.”

Keeping her eyes on Kraznys the whole time, Dany pointed at the garden hose in the corner of the room and snapped her fingers. Daario walked quickly but not hastily, as Dany despised hasty servants. Haste was a sign of fear, but nothing more. _Any idiot can terrify people._ Quick but precise movements showed not only that her chattel feared her, but that she’d molded them into entirely new people, suited to her taste and hers alone. Dany finally turned her head when he reached the hose. “And a hood, dear. Throw it to me.”

Daario pulled a black canvas hood from a cargo pocket and tossed it across the room. Dany caught it and moved behind her captive, as Daario turned on the spigot.

“First, you’re going to take a shower,” Dany explained, sliding the hood down over his head. “Then, we’ll go on a date.”

Daario squeezed the nozzle and shot a stream of water between the man’s legs. He kept it narrow, to make it as forceful as anything solid. Kraznys screamed as Daario held the stream on his balls. Dany took her switchblade and teased his neck with the tip near the bottom of the hood.

“Oh, God, yes!” Dany shouted playfully. “That first! Ew!” Dany fully intended to fuck this man, but only so she could tear his mind and body to shreds in the process.

“Clean it good, in case he gets lucky.” She slapped Kraznys on the back of his head. “Would you like that?”

Kraznys was too busy screaming and shuddering to answer. He shouted something that might have been a plea for mercy, or a curse, but the hood made it unintelligible. _Not that it matters._

Dany grabbed the top of his scalp and forced his head into an exaggerated nod. “Yes, right, of course you would! Maybe I’ll even make you my girlfriend. How about that?”

Kraznys shook his head, as Daario moved the stream slowly up his gut. Dany rested her elbows on his shoulders to lock him in place with her forearms, and whispered into his ear.

“You’re a little heartbreaker, aren’t you? Stringing me along and dumping me like that.”

He kept up his screaming until the stream reached his Adam’s apple and the pressure cut off his voice. His arms and legs thrashed uselessly against the ropes.

“What have I ever done to you?” She looked back up at Daario. “Drown him.”

Daario stepped forward to get nice and close, then widened the stream and blasted over Kraznys’s nose and mouth. He tried to shake free, but all that got him was Daario’s boot in his crotch.

“No matter how much I promise not to let you die, your body will refuse to believe it,” Dany continued. “Neither will mine. And you have _no idea_ how wet that makes me. I _GET OFF_ on your suffering,” she explained, “and on knowing how much worse I’ll make it.”

Dany slid her fingers under the hood, taunting him with the prospect that a little girl might choke the life from him, and daring him to deny how good it felt. “I’ve only begun to break you, and I won’t stop until I grind you to _fucking_ dust.” She ran the back of her hand down his chest, grazing her fingers against his shivering skin. Kraznys was too desperate to enjoy it, struggling in vain to breathe through the soaked canvas.

“I’d make fun of you for the erection, but I suppose that would make me a hypocrite.” His chest was heaving, and his screams had turned to the shrieks of a dying man. Dany put him in a headlock with one arm and unzipped her jeans, just enough to slide her other hand inside. _He thinks this is it._ That made her moan into his ear.

 _Not yet._ Dany looked back up at Daario. “Stop.”

The captain obeyed, and Kraznys gasped frantically, swallowing as much air as he could. Dany's fingers had found their way under her panties. She found her victim’s fleeting relief almost as hot as his terror. _I'll give you far worse things to fear than death._

She waited until Kraznys’s heaving died down slightly, then smacked him in the head again. “I’m going to suck my friend’s cock while you finish your shower. You’ll be done when he’s done. Though I must warn you, he likes it slow.”

Daario sat in the desk chair and smiled down as Dany dropped to her knees. “You’re a sick little cunt. You know that, right?” Daario was one of the few people who could get away with saying that.

“Are you complaining?” She looked up at him as she unbuttoned his pants.

“No, ma’am.” Daario shook his head. He kept his smile, but blinked, betraying just enough fear to make Dany lick her lips. Daario was a cocky douche if ever there was one, but in a charming way. And he’d seen her do enough things to enough people to know when to stop being a smart-ass and obey; a rare knack for men like him, which made him her favorite. _I believe the term is ‘bottom bitch,’_ though Sidwell Friends School was a bad place to learn pimp slang.

“Then shut the fuck up and enjoy the blow job.” She blew him a playful kiss and pulled his cock out; squeezing, teasing the head, feeling it harden and grow in her hand. _This belongs to me, and don’t you ever forget it_. A few pumps and brushes of her thumb, and it was hard enough to slide into her mouth.

Daario truly did like to take his time getting his cock sucked, and by capturing Kraznys he’d given her what she wanted, so she gladly indulged him. She took him in slowly, sucked him lightly, and grazed her fingers softly over his balls. Her mouth watered, and she let it flow down his shaft, then slowly drew herself back up and teased the head with her tongue.

His free hand went to the back of her head to guide her. _Ballsy,_ Dany thought, given how perilous even the slightest attempt to control her could be. But she was in a good mood, and Daario remembered what to do with his other hand, as proven by the screaming and coughing and hopeless rattling sounds behind her.

 _Fuck, that's hot._ Dany sealed her lips tighter around Daario's cock, so he could feel the soft moan that passed through them--a gesture of approval at what a good torturer he was, and a subtle warning that she would always be a little bit better. Her fingers went back to work on her clit; her mind abandoning the pretense of self restraint. _You're not like other people. This is your birthright._

Daario sensed her pleasure and gripped her head tighter. His hand was massive compared to hers, and his grip strong. It would have scared her a bit, were she not so unshakably certain in her utter mastery over him. _He's reacting to my approval._ From the day they met, she knew she could rule him with subtle, vague hints as to where he stood with her, so she did precisely that.

She moved her head just a little bit faster, as she could sense he wanted. He moaned, which made her fingers move just a bit harder into her cunt, and her thumb just a bit more urgently over her clit. For a moment, she heard the tone of her captive’s screams and grunts change, and guessed that Daario had moved the water away from his. _Fine, I suppose he can breathe from time to time. As long as he's still suffering._ But the reprieve lasted a second too long for her taste, so she slapped his wrist to remind him who decided such things. The water went back to Kraznys's face, and Dany's hand went back between her legs.

Daario’s hips began to writhe, but Dany made a point of going no faster. _You've had your fun. Now you’re back at my mercy, where you belong._ She held her head still and teased him with the tip of her tongue, just to make herself clear.

Even as Dany slowly drained the sense from him, Daario knew better than to challenge her. He clutched the arm of the chair, freeing her to do as she pleased. _All without words._ That made her clit pulse, and she sped up despite herself.

Dany’s moans grew louder, more wanton, and farther beyond her control. She slid two fingers inside her and stroked, like only she could stroke them. Her moans, and Krazny’s screams, and Daario’s soft gasps all melded into one sensation; a noise and a feeling at once. She felt herself tighten around her fingers, and the beast inside tighten its grip on all of her. _Fuck this. Finish this man, and rape the next._

No longer concerned with how Daario liked it, Dany sucked harder, pulling his shaft into her until there was nothing left to pull, pressing her tongue against him as she came back up, dragging it up and down beneath the head, forcing him to shudder and throb. _I know your cock better than you do. That might not be as good for you as you think._

Daario’s hand went back to her head, and Dany allowed it, as she knew it wouldn’t be long. As he pressed her down and held her there, Dany’s body demanded its own release. She dug her nails into his thighs with her free hand, scratching down toward his knees as her body tensed and Daario filled her mouth. When it was over, she took her fingers out and collapsed against him.

 _No time._ Dany stood, shook herself off and cracked her back, then leaned down and slid her dripping fingers into his mouth. “Good boy,” she whispered into his ear. He purred and sucked harder on her fingers, which made her smile. “Cut his ropes. Winches and bicycle chain.”

Daario smirked and stood, as his inner douche came back to the fore. Dany smacked him sweetly on his douchey ass as he made his way toward the exhausted, shivering Kraznys.

She stood well within Kraznys’s reach while Daario cut his arms free of the chair, and brushed her thigh against his hand. _You could grab me if you wanted._ That was the point. _But you won’t, because somewhere in there, you still have the will to live._ He snatched his hand away from her leg like a hot stove. _Good to see the point isn't lost on you._

“This is rather fucked up, isn’t it?” Dany poked her prisoner’s shoulder as Daario retreated to the wall behind them.

Kraznys had no coherent response, so she gave him slap. She nodded at Daario, who turned a crank, and the cables attached to Kraznys's wrists pulled them slowly into the air.

Dany kept speaking as his body rose involuntarily from the chair. “My therapist says I’m angry at my father for ruining my chances in politics,” she explained, catching the skin of his helplessly hard cock between her nails on his way up.

Her therapist's office was halfway across the world, and in the moment, it seemed absurd that she would ever pay anyone to help her stop doing this. _He should be paying me, lest I do it to him._ She dug her nail in and dragged it back and forth, hoping to break skin.

“He’s wrong, though.” Dany poked him in the gut and watched him flinch. His feet dangled just above the floor, making him swing back and forth, which amused her greatly. “‘Politics,’” she said derisively, “means currying favor with other people. Horse-trading and compromise. I’ll have none of that.” She pinched his cock again, and spoke louder, so he could hear her over his own wailing. “I’ll win no elections, _but I’ll rule all the same._ ” She twisted the skin between her nails, then released it. “And if you please me, that could be very good for you.”

The man was beyond speaking. _Oh, well._ Dany put her hand out, as Daario stopped the winches and handed her a ten-foot length of loose bicycle chain.

“Thank you, dear. Watch, if you want, but stay in the corner.”

Daario took her up on her offer and sat in the desk chair. _Are you seriously going to roll across the room like a fucking child?_ Her look made him reconsider, and he stood and pushed like a normal person.

Dany turned back to her still-hooded victim and shrugged. “I apologize for that.” Kraznys had no idea what she was talking about. She moved behind him, coiled enough of the chain around her hand to keep a good grip, and drew her arm back. “But not this.”

 _Shoulder and wrist,_ Dany reminded herself as she swung. It was the best advice her tennis instructor had ever given her. Kraznys sobbed the instant the tip of the chain hit his back, blubbering so heavily that his gasps sucked in more canvas than air, which made the second lash that much more of a shock. _Fuck yes._

Dany stayed silent for a while and just beat him, her arm swinging gracefully back and forth. She basked in the silence, broken only by the chain hitting his skin and pattering onto the floor, his pained, exhausted moans, and her soft grunts of exertion that barely hid the lust from her dark, sick thoughts. _Let him be alone with his own dark, sick thoughts._

“Fun first date, isn’t it?” She finally asked, when his moans turned to breathless gurgling.

“Stop stop stop please please please,” Kraznys groaned, followed by some slurred Arabic that Dany ignored. “No, no, please, no,” _Never say that word in my presence again._

She hit him extra hard for that, which broke his skin. _More!_ Again in a second spot, but the blood didn’t come. _Piece of shit, I said MORE!!_ Again, and again, and again, in that same fucking spot, until the wound opened up and blood dripped down like paint. _Like that! Was that so fucking hard?! Do you still not understand how FUCKED you are?!_

The beatings continued until morale was crushed. When his back was good and ruined, she moved to the front, as that was generally more painful.

“Do you want me to take the hood off?”

Kraznys lifted his head just enough to let it slump back down and bounce like a deflated basketball. That was as close to a nod as he could get.

“ _Fuck you._ ” She swung hard, striking just below his collarbone. “You know when I'll take it off?” She heard a crack at the next lash, which may have been his sternum breaking, which damn near made her come in her pants. “When I  _fucking_  rape you. _Nothing_ is free with me. Remember that.” She stopped, turned to Daario, and snapped her fingers. It interrupted his mindless jerking off in the corner, not like she gave a shit. “Drop him.”

Daario put his cock away and headed quickly to the winches, released the locks, and let Kraznys hit the grate like the sack of rotten meat he was. His knees landed first, then the weight of his chest pulled his hooded face to the floor; arms and legs sprawled out before her.

 _Mine._ “Plug him.”

From a cabinet, her captain removed a silicone plug and a small bottle of tabasco sauce, and lubricated accordingly. Dany could hear Kraznys sucking his breath through his teeth as Daario plugged him. _Burning from the inside out._  Precisely how she wanted him to feel, in every possible way.

“Flip him.”

Kraznys groaned as Daario grabbed his ankles and rolled him onto his back, off the grate and onto the concrete. Daario knew what was coming, and wanted Daenerys to be comfortable while she did it, like a good boy should.

Dany tossed the bicycle chain between his legs and looked at Daario, then down to her boots, then back up, impatiently. His orders clear, Daario knelt and helped her out of one boot, then the other, setting them neatly aside, cute pink kitty cat socks stuffed inside them. She took a step back and pointed to the ground. Daario pulled her pants down, slowly and patiently, so she could keep her balance. He folded them and laid them next to her boots as Dany lifted her shirt over her head. When he finished, he looked up at her like a newly-trained puppy who still expected a treat every time he sat. _Fine._ She grabbed his head and pulled it between her legs, letting him inhale his master’s scent and plant a soft kiss on her silk panties.

“Gun.” Dany held her hand out, and Daario turned over his Glock 19 pistol from a side pocket. The coldness and weight and lethal power made her heart race and her breath quicken.

“Light.”

He stood, pulled the halogen light from the ceiling by its arm, and turned it on inches from Kraznys’s face.

“Hood.”

He removed it. Kraznys tried to push the light away, but Daario stomped his wrist with the heel of his combat boot, ending that silliness rather quickly.

Dany would have smiled, but she was too busy drowning in whatever chemicals her brain overproduced that made her what she was. She pointed toward the door.

“Now get the _fuck_ out.”

Daario kissed her on the forehead, jokingly told her to break a leg, and left.

Stepping out of her panties and tossing them behind her, Dany surveyed the pile of trash at her feet. She gave him one more kick to the balls, because he deserved it, then knelt and teased his cock with the tip of the gun. “You like this, don't you?” She said it softly, to remind him they were alone now.

Kraznys groaned in agony.

“Of course you do, or you wouldn't be as hard as you are. It’s not rape if you’re hard, everyone knows that.”

She straddled and teased him, to show him how wet and ready she was. Dany was no less disgusted with this man than when they’d begun, but the more she looked at the wreckage of his body, the more she wanted to take him inside her and wreck him some more.

“Unless,” she kept up her teasing, “some sick cunt forced pills down your throat to keep you hard no matter how _fucking_ miserable you are.” She finally lowered herself onto his hard, miserable cock and growled softly, digging her nails into the wounds on his chest.

“That would suck for you, wouldn't it?” The blood coming from the cuts on his chest made her pant softly. Pure evil broke free from her soul and trampled her helpless conscience, growing stronger with each thrust of her body. She pressed a nail deeper into an open cut and scratched. “ _Wouldn’t it!_ ”

Kraznys nodded and whimpered; the bright light in his face giving him the worst five-o’clock shadow Dany had ever seen.

“How does it feel to know your body isn’t yours anymore? How does it feel to know there’s a wet little pussy sliding up and down on your cock, yet you hate every _fucking_ minute of it?” Kraznys seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness, so Dany shoved the barrel of the gun under his chin to wake him up. “You are _far_ too slow with your answers.”

He answered in Arabic. “Please don’t, please don’t kill me, I’ll give you what you want, _please!_ ”

“That wasn’t my question.” She clicked the safety off and dug the barrel deeper into his skin. “How does it feel to be raped like the girls you sell?!” _At least I don’t sell them. I give them a home._ They’d never be free to leave that home again, but that was beside the point.

“It hurts--it hurts--please, I’m sorry, please, just stop! _Stop!_ I’m begging you!!”

 _What a bitch._ Dany turned the safety back on, lest she get carried away with yourself. “Good.” She put the gun down and slid it behind her, but not too far, just in case. _Just in case he fights me, or just in case I feel like it?_ “But you're a fool if you think I'll stop before I’m done.”

She pushed the light away from him Kraznys, then reached behind again, grabbed the bicycle chain, and dangled the bloody end over his mouth. “Suck your filthy blood off of this.” She held his jaw open and dropped it into his throat. “And the mud and grease and whatever the fuck else.”

Kraznys gagged, so she thrust her free hand onto his neck and thrust her weight  onto his cock. “I said _SUCK IT CLEAN!!_ ” She shouted as if from a hundred yards away.

With no other choice, he obeyed. Dany could feel him clenching his ass in fear. _Oh, that won't make it any better._ Tears dribbled out from his eyes, and a whimpering groan from his mouth as he ruined his own body from the inside.

“That’s right,” Dany leaned down and shot a look through his eyes, nailing his head in place as she rode him. “Clench that little rape hole nice and tight,” she growled “You _should_ fear me.”

She yanked the chain from his mouth with no warning. The links dragged against his teeth on their way out, chipping and knocking some loose, filling his mouth with blood.

“But the more you fear me, the more it hurts. And the more it hurts, the sicker I get.” She slid the chain under his neck, wrapped it around his throat, and twisted. “And the sicker I get, the more you fear me.” His face had already turned bright red. “And the more you fear me, the tighter you clench that filthy ass of yours. And on, and on, and on, until you’re _nothing._ ”

She pulled her hands apart, tightening the chain, catching the skin of his throat between the links. He coughed up blood, which made Dany bite her lip and take him harder, faster. Feeling herself starting to pulse, she let go of the chain, leaned over his face, and spat. Kraznys was too spent and too afraid of choking on his own blood to react.

Dany punched him hard in the gut, sending blood spewing from his mouth onto her face, precisely where she wanted. She let it hit her without flinching, and watched his eyes widen as he took in the sight of her purple eyes buried alight on her red-spattered face. On instinct, she licked her lips, and the taste of fear in his blood broke her free of what little self control remained.

She growled and head-butted him, her hips bucking wildly over his ruined body. Drooling, but too high on power to care, she moaned, grunted and screamed, watching the blood and dignity flow freely from his body. _Fuck yes. Beat him. Break him. Take what’s yours. Take everything he owns. Everything that makes him a person. Lay waste to him, body and soul, and make yourself his God. DO IT!!_

And she did. Her thumbs pressing just above his collarbone, Daenerys threw her head back and let out an ear-piercing scream, that turned into a grunt so loud that it hurt her throat, which only yielded another scream, and another grunt, and more pain. But the pain only made her come that much harder. She kissed him, sucked the blood from his mouth, and spat it back in his face as she came down from her peak, her body still heaving as she caught her breath.

Dany sighed and grinned, happy as a pig in mud. She climbed off and stood, stretching as the strength returned to her legs. “I bet you’d love to taste your own cock right now,” she joked, looking back at him as she her way toward a drawer. “They say Marilyn Manson had a rib taken out so he could do that, but maybe that’s just an urban legend.” She retrieved a syringe, a box of children’s band aids, and a roll of duct tape, then came back to her prisoner and fished her phone out of her pants beside him.

“We can do an experiment, if you’d like.” She sat cross-legged between his knees and smiled. “Or you can suck me off of some other cock. I’ll let _you_ decide.”

Kraznys groaned and shuddered a bit.

Dany backhanded his cock, lightly and playfully. “Anyway, if those commercials are true, these pills seem to have given you priapism, and I have no idea what to do about that.” That was a bold-faced lie. Daenerys Targaryen knew exactly what to do about priapism. “Let’s google it, shall we?”

She typed in “how to,” which auto-completed to “how to treat priapism,” which made her smirk.

“Says here you’re supposed to have a _doctor_ drain the blood from your penis,” she continued. “I almost got an honorary PhD from Columbia, but they withdrew it after some students protested. So we can round me up to a doctor, right?”

Kraznys tried to squirm away, but Dany grabbed him by the balls. _Oh, no no no. Stay._

“Step one, apply a local anesthetic.” She laughed. “Fuck that. Step two, find a blood vessel. Step three, do this…” Before he could react, Dany pinned his hips in place with her forearms, grabbed his cock, and thrust the syringe into a vein, drawing the plunger out and squirming with lustful curiosity as she watched it fill with blood.

“Shut up, you’re distracting me!” She shouted over his screams as he pounded his fists against the floor. Her tone was joking, almost flirtatious. “Ya big baby!”

His cock softened as the syringe filled, just like the internet said. _And they say you shouldn’t get medical advice from the internet._

When she finished, she sifted through the band aids. “Let’s see, we’ve got Spider Man, Ninja Turtles, Hello Kitty…” She looked at him and grinned as his cock flopped and bled. “You seem like the Hello Kitty type.” She opened the wrapper and stuck the Hello Kitty band aid over the injection site.

“So here’s what happens next,” Dany explained, as she rolled duct tape around his cock and balls for the hell of it. “You get all your men together at your camp, and introduce me.” She ripped the tape with her teeth and finished wrapping. “Then we’ll consummate the acquisition. Understood?”

He may or may not have understood, but he was going to do it anyway, so there was no sense belaboring it.

“Good.” She held his mouth open, emptied the contents of the syringe, then stood, collected her toys, and dressed. “Daario will be down in a moment to string you back up. I'll see you tonight for our second date.”

The second date was much like the first, but began with Dany holding a gun to his head while Kraznys sent the encrypted message summoning his militia to camp. Three days and five dates later, Dany finally led Kraznys out of the basement for the flight to Sulaymaniyah. She’d never told him where he was, and wanted to keep him clueless, so she brought him to the airport shackled and hooded, by a circuitous route.

Kraznys had gathered all eight thousand of his men in a field a few miles outside the city. At Dany's command, and her promise not to harm anyone unprovoked, he ordered them to turn their phones and weapons over to the definitely-not-mercenaries awaiting them.

Daenerys looked out the window as her Blackhawk flew low over the makeshift parking lot they’d made--six sections of mostly Toyota pickups; three sections on each side of a wide center aisle. She tapped her rose gold Apple Watch with its pink band, and smiled at Kraznys sitting across from her. She’d removed the hood once they were airborne, so he could see the camp from the air and let it sink in that this was actually happening.

“I know, it’s the cheap one.” She looked back down at her watch, mildly embarrassed. “I wasn’t impressed with the Hermes, honestly.”

Kraznys had been beaten too badly, and despised her too much to reply. He’d looked like he was about to vomit the whole way. Dany suspected he only stopped himself out of a well-justified fear of soiling the leather seats. 

Kraznys’s men stood in columns, facing their cars. Dany’s men had erected a barbed wire fence around them, with soldiers standing guard inside and black armored Humvees parked around the perimeter.

They touched down in the empty spot between the parked cars and a small, hastily-built stage. Kraznys’s fighters watched and grumbled as their leader ascended the stage, followed by Daario and some little white girl in a black knee-length [Bottega Veneta trench coat](https://imgur.com/htMmeAh), jeans, and her [more expensive Louboutin boots](https://imgur.com/IM572dJ), as she expected not to stay on her feet for very long. They were all flanked by phalanx of guards, as well-armed as any American soldier, but wearing black uniforms with no markings save for a three-headed dragon on the shoulder.

Kraznys approached the microphone at the center of the stage. Dany stood behind him and to his left. “Brothers,” he began in Arabic. “I know you wonder why I’ve brought you here, and had you surrender your weapons to these Americans. I know you wonder how I know we can trust the woman behind me.” _Good boy._ He was saying exactly what he’d been trained at gunpoint to say. And he genuinely did trust her, or at least her threats.

“This woman was born in America, and makes weapons for their army, but she is not one of them. She knows what they’ve done to our country,” _and profited handsomely from it,_ “and she wants stop it.” _Oh, right, yes._ “She is one of the few people with the power to do it. She is here to help us fight, and God willing, to help you feed your families and take your country back.” He hesitated as he noticed Dany’s soldiers pouring into the center aisle, but continued anyway. “I will let her speak to you. Please listen with an open mind.”

Dany took the mic. _’What’s ~the deal~ with stealing your army?’_ But this crowd wouldn’t appreciate the reference, so she skipped the schtick and went straight to the acquisition.

“Your leader is a good, brave man.” Dany spoke decent Arabic; not quite fluent, but enough to get through a prepared speech. _They'll get the point just fine, even if I say nothing._ She was quite certain of that. “And you’ve been used as pawns in other people’s games for far too long. So I won’t force you to fight for me. I’ll give you a choice.” She smirked, as her soldiers made their way through the columns, handing out plain white envelopes. Dany waited until everyone had noticed, and a wave of muttering spread through the crowd.

“Each of you will receive an envelope,” Dany continued. “Inside, you’ll find your new monthly pay; three times what Kraznys gave you.” The muttering got much louder, as the men counted the thirty crisp, genuine $100 bills in their envelopes. Kraznys looked at her, clearly not expecting this. “Join me, and you’ll receive this every month. Serve me well, and you may receive more.”

Daario grabbed Kraznys from behind and ducked his head low.

“Refuse my offer, and this will happen to you.” Dany turned to face Kraznys, drew a Glock from inside her trench coat, placed it under his chin with the mic right next to it, and squeezed. She stared straight into his eyes as they went from confusion to terror to nothing. Blood burst through his skull as Daario let his lifeless body drop face down at her feet, prostrating itself in gratitude for finally showing some mercy. Dany kicked him onto his back, snapped a picture on her phone, and tapped her watch again. _One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi..._

She put her borrowed pistol back in her trench coat and turned back to the crowd, breathing in deep and smelling their fear. “Resist me,” Dany continued after her seventh Mississippi, “and this will happen to your family.”

She gestured toward the parking lot. Two white blurs came down from the sky in perfect unison, into the two farthest sections of the parking lot. Not even half a second later came the next two. The first pair detonated, sending dirt and flames and twisted metal everywhere. Then the next two, then the last, in the two closest sections.

Dany stood motionless before the crowd, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Neither the blast nor the sound nor the heat fazed her in the least. Her only move was a subtle shift of her hips to accommodate the wetness between her thighs.

Chaos broke out, stifled quickly by a burst of warning shots from one the humvees.

“There are _thousands_ more of those,” she belted into the mic, “and they cost me _nothing._ You will _never_ see me coming. You will _never_ stop me. You will _never_ escape me. Make your choice. _Now._ Run away and die, fight me and doom your own children, or smuggle my drugs, take my money, and fall to your _fucking_ knees!”

The crowd stood frozen and dumbfounded. One of her soldiers hit a man in the back with the butt of his rifle, to clarify that she did, in fact, mean that literally. Eight thousand men on their knees was a beautiful sight, and Dany took it in for a moment, steely eyed and silent, as a few stray car alarms blared in the distance.

Daenerys the Acquirer cleared her throat into the mic, as her Blackhawk started its engines behind her. “Welcome to the company. Orientation starts now.”

She put the mic back in its stand, because dropping it had grown tacky. As the Humvees fired tear gas inside the fence to start orientation, Dany boarded her helicopter and flew back to Baghdad with her legs wrapped tightly around her captain's head.

While they were landing, Dany spotted a jet touch down on the other side of the airport with the unmistakable blue and white markings of a US government plane. She squeezed her thighs tighter and tugged Daario’s hair. _This boy has no idea what he’s getting into._ That alone sent her over the falls.

She was scheduled to host dinner with Jon and the ambassador later that evening, so Dany went straight home and let Jon spend his afternoon meeting with the Deputy Assistant Undersecretaries of Bla Bla Bla Nobody Gives A Fuck who nominally ran things. She sent word to the embassy that Kraznys mo Nakloz was dead, with the picture from her phone as proof, though the tale she told was that he’d died in a shootout. Most of his men, by her account, had died in the drone strikes; the rest scattered. Sulaymaniyah, she was proud to report, was finally safe for democracy, with minimal damage to the city proper.

As was not uncommon, her thoughts turned to Jon while she showered. _Don’t drag him into this,_ part of her demanded. _He’s a good person. Let him believe you are, too._ But the other part reminded her that good people make the best prey, and that was precisely why she should drag him deeply into this, and hold him there, and consume him. _You need him for this,_ the demon insisted. _You know that._

“This” had been the center of her life since the first time she remembered stopping at a traffic light, at thirteen years old. It had grown from a dream, to a goal, to a divine mandate; her will for it so strong that nature itself would not drag her away from this world until it paid its debt to her. _‘This’ is who you are. ‘This’ is what you were born to do. He knows your name. He knows where you come from, and he’s eating out of your hand. He’s yours, like all the rest, to do with as you please. So stop being a weak little girl, and do it._

As it always did, the demon won out. Dany unhooked the detachable shower head, spread her legs, and thought of things to come in the years, and months, and hours ahead. She thought until her knees gave in from all the thinking, then thought some more until she almost slipped and broke her neck.

Her bedroom slaves dressed her like a normal person for dinner, in a tasteful black dress and a pearl necklace that made her look like such a fucking WASP. The guests arrived and were greeted by a girl whom Daenerys referred to as her “assistant” in polite company. She spoke English and carried herself well, affording her the privilege of interacting with others and keeping her name, Missandei. She wore a navy blue dress with a gold zipper up the back, slightly less convenient than a loosely tied robe, but her passport and birth certificate were just as burnt as Drape Girl’s.

“Welcome to Baghdad, Senator Snow.” Dany smiled diplomatically and descended the staircase in her front hall.

Jon shook her hand, politely but no more than that, lest anyone gossip that they looked too chummy. “Daenerys,” he nodded. “Good to see you again.”

He introduced his chief of staff, some failed Jimmy Buffett impersonator named David Sea-Man or something. Dany made the requisite niceties, and turned to the ambassador.

Too drunk for niceties, the ambassador pointed to the dining room. “Food?”

Dany nodded.

“Fooooooooood.” Tyrion Lannister seemed to enjoy Dany’s hatred for empty pleasantries, as they were such a large part of his job. Dany could not understand why this man was still on the government payroll, and had resolved to fix that in short order. _The dark side lets you put scotch and strippers on the Amex._

Tyrion sat himself at the head of the table and raised a still-empty wine glass. _This will be number five,_ Dany guessed, from previous experience. “To Kraznys mo Nakloz! And the bullet in his fat, bald head.”

Jon smiled uncomfortably and sat. “This was the drug guy, right? Not the terrorist?”

Dany nodded. _Pay attention in your briefings, boy._ “Yes, sir. He dabbled in human trafficking, too.” _Ha! 'Sir.’_

Jon collected his words. “As you know, I’ve said quite frankly that I disapprove of many of your company’s practices.” _Oh, you haven’t even begun to disapprove of my practices._ “But I must admit, your team does excellent work.” _They’ve barely begun, too._

Dinner went on, wine was consumed, and the delegation grew tired. Dany offered to let them stay the night, which they accepted. She retired to her bedroom when the rest did, joined quietly by the slave girls a moment later. They helped her out of her clothes, knelt as she sank naked into her favorite chair, and rubbed her legs and feet with lotion. Dany rested her feet on Drape Girl’s thighs, while Closet Girl fetched Dany’s silk pajamas. Roughly the same age as Drape Girl, Closet Girl had earned her name both by managing Dany’s wardrobe, and by once hiding in a closet to avoid being raped, only to be locked therein for a week and raped repeatedly.

“Not tonight,” Dany commanded in Arabic. “The little shorts and the Harvard t-shirt.” _Jon will like that better._

The thought of doing anything because someone else “will like it better” made her brain restart unexpectedly, and her conscience made one last stand before she regained her amoral bearing. _Just marry him. Do it that way. He basically proposed on that roof, but you cut him off._

But she couldn’t do it that way. That wasn’t power. That was Easter egg rolls, and meaningless trappings. The demon seized on that.  _And that’s why you cut him off. You were made for far more than trappings. Your act on your nature, even when you deny it exists._

In her shorts and t-shirt, and acting on her nature, Dany took it upon herself to unlock Jon’s door with her master key, and quietly invite herself inside. She found him on his back, arms spread out, snoring like a chainsaw. _So adorable, and so, so fucked._  She climbed into bed, straddled him, and kissed him awake.

Jon stirred out of his deep, jet-lagged sleep. With his eyes still closed and his mind still clouded, he slid his hands around Dany’s ass. _He has a nature, too._ He opened his eyes and stopped himself. “Dany--not here,” he whispered. “Too many people.”

She wanted to slap the shit out of him for presuming to question her. Instead, she smiled and stroked his cheeks with both hands. “Downstairs, sleepyhead.”

Dany hopped out of bed, took his hand in hers, kissed it, and tugged. Jon groaned, but sat up and followed her anyway, his half-hard cock prominent in his boxers.

She stopped abruptly when they reached the kitchen, and opened the heavy door to the basement. "Down here.”

He hesitated.

“Come on!” She whispered. “They won’t hear us!”

Jon passed through the doorway and descended the steps. Dany lit the way with her phone’s flashlight, the beam small and dim enough so he would only see what she allowed him to.

“There’s someone I want you to meet down here,” she explained, once he was all the way down the steps.

Jon stopped at the base of the stairs. “What?”

Dany turned on the lights and let his eyes adjust, watching his face as he tried to figure out what the hell he was looking at. He looked back up, confused and deeply uneasy. _Mmmmm._

“Seriously, who’s down here?”

She smiled, jammed the cattle prod against his collarbone and shocked him to his knees. “Work Dany.” 

 


	3. Jon II

Jon found himself in the turret of an armored Humvee. His was number three in a column of five. Brown, ruined buildings flew by on either side of him. _Fallujah._ Jon still knew the roads.

It was both strange and all too familiar at once. They were moving fast down the highway, but something on his face was shielding it from the wind. His field of view kept shifting, as if he were moving his head, yet he could swear he was holding still.

They turned quickly off the highway. _Too quickly._

“Slow down, you’ll sideload it!” Jon shouted into his headset. He tensed his core to steady himself. The ground shook, but he felt nothing. _Maybe I’m stronger than I thought._

It was clear to Jon that whoever was driving hadn’t seen much combat. _Pyp. He thinks he’s a badass._  From the way they were driving, it seemed the column was full of badasses. _This is how people die._

“Pyp, slow down!” Pyp didn’t bother to respond, and the other soldiers on the radio chattered away as if he weren’t even there. _Great, your mic’s broken._ He tried to smack the side of his helmet, but couldn’t. _What the fuck?_

He noticed a slight but sharp pain in the crook of his right arm, and assumed something was pinning it in place. “Can you hear me? Slow down, my arm’s stuck, I can’t reach the gun.”

Still no response. _Piece of shit._

Jon couldn’t remember the mission objectives for the life of him; in fact, he couldn’t even remember leaving the base. But they were moving just as fast down the side streets as they had been on the highway, and he assumed they were trying to catch someone by surprise. _It’s not worth it. It’s never worth it._ They rarely surprised anyone in this town, especially when they barreled through the streets so recklessly.

“Guys, we’re too obvious, we need to split up.” He hoped somehow, someone would hear him.

No one did. Loud music filled his ears. _Another One Bites the Dust._ Someone was about to; that much was certain. _They think this is a game._

“Turn that shit off!”

But it only got louder. A warm sensation spread between his legs. _That can’t be._ Was he bleeding? Had he pissed himself? He tried to feel his pants, but still couldn’t move.

The column flew down an empty, trash-strewn road in the industrial neighborhood. _Nothing good happens here._ A boy no older than fifteen stood outside a bombed-out warehouse, bouncing a soccer ball between his feet. _Shoot him._ That was a flagrant violation of all sorts of rules, but Jon knew precisely why that kid was there, and he was willing to take the heat for it. He thrashed, in a vain attempt to reach his gun.

“Shoot that kid!” He shouted, praying someone would hear him. “I can’t move, somebody shoot that kid!”

But everyone else seemed content to enjoy the music. Jon noticed the warm sensation had a texture to it. Something wet pressing against his cock. _‘There are plenty of ways you can hurt a man, and bring him to the ground…’_

“Who’s down there?!” It had to be a soldier; who else could it be? _Satin?_ Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was a bit pointless with Satin. His speech and mannerisms ‘Told’ all there was to ‘Ask.’ But Satin was a nice kid. He wouldn’t do that.

“Are you out of your mind?! Stop that!!” He would address the many things wrong with that when they got back to base, but for the moment, all he wanted was to stop the distraction.

 _‘You can beat him, you can cheat him, you can treat him bad, and leave him when he’s down…’_ The Humvee in front of him slammed on its brakes, leaving Jon’s with no choice but to follow suit. He flinched as his head jostled around, but felt nothing, as if the world had already decided how this was going to happen.

 _‘But I’m ready, yes I’m ready for you, I’m standing on my own two feet…’_ The lead Humvee began what looked like a K-turn.

“You _fucking_ idiot!!” K-turns only made you slow and vulnerable. But whoever was with him in the turret didn’t seem to care; all they did was suck harder and roll their tongue around Jon’s cock.

 _‘Out of the doorway the bullets rip--’_ The music stopped, and soldiers began shouting over the radio. Despite himself, Jon finished the line in his head. _Repeating to the sound of the beat..._

He never got to the chorus. His mind shut off at the burst of gunfire, the deafening sound of the explosion at the head of the column, and the screaming of men on fire. He was suddenly facing sideways, shooting wildly into a building, though his body still felt paralyzed.

“ _GO!!_ Get--”

The Humvee directly in front of him threw itself into reverse, and locked bumpers with his own. Its tires spun furiously, but moved nowhere. _Well, you’re fucked._

Smoke from a rocket-propelled grenade streamed out of the first floor window of a warehouse, and the paralyzed Humvee in front of him turned instantly to an orange ball of flame, then a black cloud of smoke that consumed everything. Strangely, Jon felt nothing but the mouth on his cock, sucking as masterfully as he’d ever been sucked.

Jon could still hear the chaos and see building facades and wreckage in his periphery. The blackness turned to empty sky, then to dirt. _You landed on your back, now you’re crawling on your stomach,_ he assumed, though he had no way to prove it. Somehow he still felt that fucking mouth. _That’s physically impossible. You’re dying. It’s your brain making it painless._

The barrel of his rifle appeared from under him, as Jon found himself underneath the chassis of his Humvee, right by the fuel tank. _What the fuck am I doing?!_ That was the last place he should be. From the warehouse came a man with a heavy vest, charging like he had nothing left to lose but his life. _Shit._ Jon squeezed his trigger finger, but nothing came out. _Fuck._

“ _Allah ‘akbar!!_ ” He heard the man shout. Dust, flame and smoke flooded under the chassis. Before the silence and blackness came static, like a TV losing its signal. _This is it,_ was Jon’s last thought as a living man.

 _But the war’s over,_ was his first thought as a dead one. _I lived. I’m supposed to run for president._ That was absurd, though. Nonsense, spewed out by a dying mind to distract from the agony. _You lived through one ambush, and died in the next. The End_.

His headset went silent. Jon could feel himself screaming, but the sound was muffled. Something soft slid against him, and that warm, wet sensation changed. The soldier was gone, replaced by a woman on top of him; a woman he still couldn’t see. Her hips build a slow, gentle pace, though each thrust took him in deeper. _Heaven?_ Jon was not a religious man, but had always been under the impression that heaven was all clouds and halos. _Maybe the Wile E. Coyote cartoons were bullshit. Maybe heaven is a woman on your dick for eternity._

“Don’t move,” said a soft voice through his headset. “Don’t speak. Don’t fight me. It’s much easier that way.” _That’s not very heavenly._ Jon twitched on instinct, despite the warning.

The woman seemed not to react. Her hips moved no faster; no harder. No hands touched his body. _Just enjoy it._ He threw his head back and tried to inhale.

Nothing happened. Truly, nothing. He’d expected his chest to fill with air, but none came. He felt no hands on his face; nothing closing his mouth or nostrils; nothing pressing against his throat. He tried again. Nothing. He fidgeted. The woman rode him just a bit harder, which made him want to breathe deeper, which yielded only more nothing. His fidgeting turned to thrashing; his lungs resorted to violent, desperate heaving. _This is not heaven._

“I told you not to fight me,” the voice reminded him, “but you did anyway.” _It was just a twitch!_ “That was a poor decision on your part. Do you see how utterly helpless you are?” Clearly enamored with its own power, the woman, or demon, or whatever it was, moaned softly. “Nod, like a good little bitch, and I’ll let you breathe my air again. Unless you’d like to take your chances with a second death.”

Assuming a second death would only yield more torture and less pussy, Jon nodded. Air flooded his nose and mouth. His body drank it in, though he restrained himself from gasping too heavily, lest he provoke the monster again.

“Much better,” she said, sweetly. “Do you know where you are now?”

Jon nodded again, voice heavy with resignation. “Hell.”

“That’s right.” Hands ran up his chest. Fingers toyed with his nipples. The thrusting against his cock sped up. “Abandon all hope, and so forth.” Judging by the demon’s accent, hell was in Greenwich, Connecticut, which explained why so many hedge fund managers lived there.

Jon suddenly recognized the voice. _No you don’t. You’re not fucking Aerys Targaryen’s daughter, don’t flatter yourself._

“Do you know _why_ I brought you here?”

Jon shook his head. “No.”

The demon took away his air again. “Because I can. Don’t ever forget that. And I can _always_ bring you back here. No one will save you. You can redeem yourself, but redemption comes only from me. Do you understand?”

He nodded. She rewarded him with air, but climbed off his cock. _No, please._ His head felt like it was swimming. More pitch-black silence followed, and his face went numb. _How do I redeem myself? Tell me!_

The demon snickered in his headset. “Calm down, I’ll tell you!”

_How did you—_

“So many questions from the rape doll!”

Jon felt a tugging on his head, a slap to his face, and the headset sliding off his ears.

“Maybe I can read your mind,” the voice teased, no longer crackling through the headset. As he turned his head toward the source, the darkness yielded to blinding light. “Or maybe you’re talking without realizing it.”

Standing before him as his eyes adjusted was Aerys Targaryen’s daughter, naked as the day she was born, save for what looked like a pair of cheap plastic devil horns from a drugstore Halloween costume.

 _No, you’ve definitely fucked her._ Dying or otherwise, no mind could conjure up a woman like that, or the memories that flooded back to him. Purple eyes that reminded everyone who looked her in the face that they would never be her, and a glare that warned such lesser beings to never forget it. Small breasts, but so perfect that they commanded the room anyway. Thighs that years of magazines had convinced her were fat, but that belonged in a fucking museum. _But why are you in hell with me?_ She wasn’t dead, and her father was the maniac, not her.

Daenerys grabbed his jaw between her thumb and forefinger, and stared through him. The horns seemed less cheap and plastic. “Reasons don’t matter anymore. _Nothing_ matters, except what I tell you.”

Something told Jon he should be much angrier; much more afraid. But his mind only wallowed in a strange, blissful fog. _Right, sorry about that._

She moved his head and led his eyes up to a clear plastic bag, then down the tube to the needle in his arm. “Maybe that’s the poison I’m killing you with. Maybe it’s nothing, and I just put it there to freak you out. Does it matter?”

_No?_

Dany took the liberty of shaking his head for him. “No, not any more. That feels good, doesn’t it? When only I decide what matters? When your world begins and ends with me?”

_Uh huh._

She leaned down, and purred into his ear. “You’ll never go back to what you were. But this is better.”

_Yeah, this is better._

Dany stroked his cheek. “So much better, I know.” She nipped his earlobe and tugged. “Giving me your soul is a privilege. You should be thanking me profusely.”

_Thank you. Profusely._

She giggled. “Good boy. Would you like to know how to redeem yourself?” She nodded slowly, to lead him to the right answer.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Dany straightened her horns. “You’re clearly in love with me. Even now, when you  _know_  I’m the Devil in the flesh.”

Jon nodded at her tits, until something silently forced his eyes back to hers. He knew he was a bit infatuated, but prided himself on avoiding the temptation to fall in love with her. Yet the instant the word passed her lips, it became an undeniable truth.

“So stop denying it,” she went on. "Stop hiding it from the world. Surrender. Submit. _Entangle_ yourself with me.”

He nodded again. “Yes.”

Dany grabbed her phone and pointed it at him. “We’re done hiding our love.”

“Yeah, we’re done.” He nodded once again, in a trance.

“You wanna fuck me again?” She panned down to his pulsing cock. “It looks like you wanna fuck me again.”

“Uh huh. I wanna fuck you again.”

Dany chuckled at Jon, like a cute puppy. “I just told you I’m the Devil in the flesh. But you _worship_ the Devil, don’t you?”

Jon laughed stupidly. “Yeah…” _I probably shouldn’t have said that on camera._

Dany flipped the phone around. “He likes to be tied to a chair and asphyxiated when he fucks,” she explained to the camera. “He can’t get off without it. And he’s a bit of a Satanist.” She pointed to the horns on her head and grinned. “Hence the costume.”

She turned the phone back around. “Right?”

“Right.”

“Matt Drudge would love this video. But fuck it.”

“Yeah, fuck it!” He laughed, harder than he thought he would. _Matt Drudge wants dirt on me,_ he remembered. _Oh, well._

“You want to wear the gas mask again?” Dany continued.

 _The what?_ Jon nodded nonetheless.

“Ask nicely.”

“...Please?”

“Please put the gas mask over your head and cut off your air until you come?”

Jon grinned like an idiot. “Yeah, that. Please.”

Dany laughed again. “Fine, if you insist.” She turned the camera off, removed the needle from his arm, and put on a band aid. “Ninja Turtles!” She teased, sweetly. “You like Ninja Turtles?”

“I like Ninja Turtles.” He smiled, because apparently he liked Ninja Turtles.

She retrieved the gas mask and kissed him on the cheek. “I know you do.” On went the mask. Dany pulled the straps nice and tight. “I know _everything._ ”

Grinning, Dany put her hand over the intake valve where the canister would go, had it been attached. Jon tried to inhale, but couldn’t. _I think I remember that._ She took her hand away, slid out of her shorts, pointed the camera at him again, and mounted him.

Jon growled softly as the pleasure wiped out everything else. Dany gasped, then built up a slow pace. “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.” The mask was a bit disconcerting, but the pussy was too good.

Dany pointed the camera straight down, to make abundantly clear that they were, in fact, fucking. She panned back up to his face and put her hand over the valve, to get a good shot of him writhing around and struggling to breathe. “ _So fucking hot,_ isn’t it?”

 _Is it?_ He nodded again regardless.

She set the phone down between his legs. “That’s quite an entanglement we're in. Think it's enough?”

 _Too much._ But that wasn’t what Dany wanted to hear. “Yes.”

She covered the valve again, and twisted a nipple. “ _Fuck_ no. Not _nearly_ enough.” She shook her head. Jon followed suit, though blind agreement made less sense by the second.

Dany lifted the mask just enough to kiss him, then bit his lip. Hard. Jon screamed into the kiss; louder when he tasted blood. She sucked some into her mouth, pulled away, and slid the mask back over his face.

That did something to her. She pinned his shoulders to the chair, licked her lips, and rode harder, eyes burning.

“I’m ovulating, you know.” _Wait, what?_ “And I won't stop until you come inside me. Don’t waste your time fighting it. You're _mine._ Fill this tight, fertile pussy. _Fill it!_ Give your rapist a  _fucking_  baby!”

 _Maybe I survived the ambush, and this is some fucked up coma dream._ Or maybe there was no ambush. Maybe it was just a nightmare; his PTSD acting up again. It wouldn’t be the first time his mind dragged him back to Fallujah.

Daenerys looked possessed, like even she had lost herself to some greater, terrible power. _No. This is hell, no matter how I got here._

Dany, or Satan, or whoever, continued. “What _will_ you do when I'm pregnant? Will want me to keep it? Get an abortion? Will you admit it’s yours? Buy my silence?” She cut off his air again, and dragged her nails down his chest. “No,  _fuck silence,_ I’ll tell the _New York Times_ myself. Just to watch you scramble to save your chances at that job you don’t want.”

_‘That’ job?!_

“Will you do a focus group first? Let some mouth-breathers from Ohio pick if your child lives or dies? What if you don’t like what they say? Would you do it anyway? Is that how low you’ll stoop?!”

The truth came to him slowly. Jon the soldier would have no idea what this woman was talking about. Only Jon the war hero, the reluctant savior of American democracy, would even consider something as repulsive as that.

“What if I refuse to listen to you? What if I do the opposite of what your press release says? What would you _say?!_ That you trusted me when you shouldn’t have? That you changed your mind? That I raped you? What Commander in Chief is so gullible? So fickle? So weak? What leader trusts a woman he should have known was _fucking insane_ by her name alone?”

 _Dany doesn’t say things like this._ She was on birth control. She told him that. Why would she lie? She didn’t have time for kids.  _And she doesn’t d_ _o t_ _hings like this._ Dany was far from coy, and played as hard as she worked, but why rape him when all she had to do was bat an eyelash?

“Come in me, Senator. Come in my wet, _greedy_ pussy. _Ruin_ yourself to make me laugh. You know you want to. I dare you to refuse me.”

 _This is a dream,_ he decided. A warning from his conscience. He’d wake up, break things off, and move on. They both knew that was coming. _So end the nightmare, wake yourself up, and do it._ He tried to force his eyes open.

And in a way, they did. The stupor was wearing off. On the ceiling, he noticed a massive TV screen on a retractable arm. Behind her on a counter was a Bose headset. _None of that was real._  The IV bag had something to do with it, too. He remembered a bit of his life before the ambush. A trip to Baghdad. Dinner at her house. Jet lag. An offer to stay the night. _‘Come downstairs, no one will hear us. I want you to meet someone in the basement.’_ Terrible sudden pain, _‘Work Dany,’_ then nothing.

He narrowed his eyes at her. _I’m in your basement. You fucking drugged me. You know what happened in the war and you mindfucked me with it._ It still felt like another world, but the more the fog lifted, the more it seemed like the only explanation.

Dany seemed to sense what he was thinking. _She’s reading your face, not your mind._ She gave him the most deranged smile he’d ever seen on another human being.

“Get the fuck off me!” He shouted through the mask, twisting against his restraints.

She put a hand back over the valve, and waved a finger in his face. “Nuh-uh-uh. For the _third_ time, do _not_ fight me! Don't you understand how stupid that is?” She slowed down, but rode him just as hard. “Don’t you know how easily I could kill you? Don't you see what I am, now? How sure are you that I'd give a shit about a dead senator in my basement?”

Jon stared up at her. _Don’t let her see your fear._ But she stared back just as coldly, mocking him for thinking he could hide the obvious.

She pressed her hand harder against the valve and dragged his chin to his chest, turning his stare into a weak little pout. “You want to breathe, but you can’t. You want to stop your cock from throbbing but you can’t. You want to stop me from breeding you like livestock, but you can’t. You want to free yourself from this chair, and your life from my mercy, _but you can’t!_ So fill me, or _die_ right here in this chair!”

Part of Jon wanted to let her suffocate him, rather than give her what she wanted. _It’s not hers to take._ But his body was perilously close to giving it to her anyway. It was a strange feeling; the fact that she could do this to him. _It’s just blood flowing,_ he tried to convince himself, as she sped back up. _You’re responding to a sensation. That’s it._ But what sensation? The pussy? The fear? The helplessness? The hate?  _She has no right to do this. No right to put those questions in my mind._

But the questions were there, and so was the throbbing in his cock. So was the feeling that started between his legs and spread throughout him, making him grip the arms of his chair and tense his legs and arch his back. He could feel his face contort. He heard his moans rise up from his throat, only to disappear into her hand. He felt himself struggle to breathe; his heart and lungs pumping as if they could somehow force her hand off the valve.

 _Just try to survive,_ was his last thought before his eyes closed and his cock gave in. Each burst felt like a robbery. Like she was fishing through his pockets, taking everything he needed or cared about.

Jon opened his eyes and gasped for air. Dany dismounted and removed his mask, and her horns. She hopped onto the counter and sat facing him, legs spread and leaking. She reached for a gun and slid it close but let it sit beside her, untouched.

 _Let her speak first._ His body was too spent and his mind too fucked to say what he wanted to.

“I’m sorry.” Her tone almost convinced Jon she meant it.

“You’re _sorry?!_ ”

“I mean it. I told you, Work Dany is different.”

“You realize that was--”

“Terrible, yes. Several felonies, in most places, but fuck it. I’ve wanted to do that for so long, and I’m not stopping now. I’ll do it again, and again, and again, and again, until you can’t live without it.” _I thought you were sorry_ _._ But the way she said it sounded more like a prognosis than a threat.

“You’re delusional if you believe that,” Jon replied, “and for the record, I do think you give a shit about a dead senator in your basement. So let me go, don’t speak to me, or come anywhere near me ever again, and I won’t press charges.”

She smiled. “For what crime? Iraqi law says it's not rape until a dick is inside you. They’re rather old-fashioned over here. And besides,” she held up her phone and waved it at him. “You consented. _You’re_ delusional if you think pressing charges will stop me.”

Jon remembered his Army training. _Have her talk about herself. She'll let her guard down._ “So, what do you want?”

Dany sighed. “To take over the world, and to make a suit out of your skin.” She paused and smirked. “I’m joking. But twenty bucks says you assumed my career goals go hand in hand with my darker proclivities.” _Twenty bucks says I’m right._  “It’s my father again. Jesus, I'll never live him down, will I?”

 _She's toying with you._ He could sense it. _Don't play her game._ “Whatever you want, it won't make you happy.”

“You're not wrong, my love.” _Your ‘love’?_ Before he could respond to that, an alarm rang on Dany's phone. “Oooh, time for breakfast. I should get ready.” She turned off the alarm and thumbed through her phone. “Do you like musicals?”

 _This woman is ill._ He almost felt bad for her. “Not particularly.”

She looked up from her phone and smiled. “I suppose you’re not allowed to. You’ve got to keep up the appearance that you’re as stupid as your constituents in Min-ne- _soh_ -tah,” She mocked the stereotypical accent, terribly. “Nobody wants to have a beer with someone who pays a thousand dollars to see some Puerto Rican dressed up like Alexander Hamilton. Not that most of them know a damn thing about Puerto Rico, or Hamilton, but gosh darn it, it just doesn’t sit right.”

Dany tapped the screen of her phone and slid into a pair of short black running shorts, and a light grey t-shirt with “HARVARD” emblazoned in big red letters across the chest. The music started, from speakers buried amongst the terrible things bolted to her ceiling. She made her way to a sink, lip syncing and humming along, like any other woman in her morning routine. _The mundanity of evil._

Jon assumed correctly that [ the song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdxLohjwhoQ) was from _Hamilton_. Loath as he was to admit it, he hadn’t seen the play, for the exact reasons Dany laid out. But he knew basic history, and surmised from the lyrics that it was her distant relative George III’s reaction to the Declaration of Independence. _This is not an accident._

The song sounded like a threatening love letter from an abusive, unhinged ex. Sweet words mixed with promises of violence, and warnings to the colonists that they’d regret leaving him; that tyranny was the best they’d ever get; that they were too weak and naive to hope for anything better.

Dany bopped along silently for the first few lines, squeezed some toothpaste onto her brush, then turned to Jon and sang out part of a line. “Oceans rise, empires fall…”  _Also not an accident,_ Jon knew, though her meaning still eluded him. _The 'oceans rise’ part has been done already,_ as the Targaryens had been in the oil business for generations. The latter half, he feared, was where he came in. Somehow.

She went back to silence, then finished brushing, washed her face, and sauntered back to Jon. “And no, don’t change the subject!” She belted out, straddling him and cupping his face in her hands. “‘Cause you’re my favorite subject!”

She pressed her forehead against his, pinning his head against the chair. “My sweet, submissive subject.”

She snapped her teeth shut just shy of his mouth, hard enough to tear into his lower lip if she’d wanted to. Jon flinched. Dany twisted and tugged at his nipples. “My loyal, royal subject.”

Harder. “Forever.”

And harder. “And ever.”

Jon bit his cheek to deny her the satisfaction of hearing him scream, but his eyes seemed to give her all she needed.

“And ever, and _ever_ , and ever…”

Dany released him and went back to floss, letting the song finish without singing any more backup, save for the phrase “kill your friends and family” near the end. She delivered that one with a broad smile and a hand up the leg of her shorts, sucking her fingers clean when she finished.

“Next time we’re in New York, we’ll go together,” she promised. "But first, breakfast.” Dany opened a drawer and returned with her gun, along with a set of handcuffs, and cuffed one wrist. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

 _Give you what you deserve?_ “No.” _Not yet._

“Good.” She undid the straps on his cuffed arm, pulled it over to his other wrist, locked them together, and freed the other arm. Holding the gun but not lifting it, she studied him until she was satisfied he wouldn’t move, then freed his legs and tossed him his boxers. “Put those on, but don’t get up.”

Jon struggled, but made it work. Dany pulled him upright by the cuffs, then motioned for him to stand. He complied. She took his undershirt and pulled it down over his wrists and cuffed arms.

“Has standing made you stupider?”

“No.”

She led him toward the counter, put the gun down, and reached under his shirt. “We’ll see, won’t we…” She undid his cuffs, then quickly set them down on the counter and picked up her gun. “Finish.”

Jon put his arms through his sleeves.

“Do you think you’re ready?”

He sighed, exasperated. “Sure.”

Dany pulled him close by the shirt, thrust the gun under the chin, and squeezed the trigger. Jon winced, but nothing happened. Dany smiled. “Yeah, you’re ready.” She led him by the hand toward the stairs. “Let’s eat.”

Jon followed her up, gaming out his options. _Grab her legs and throw her down the stairs._ That would buy time to find Davos and Tyrion. _Then what?_ She had armed guards at her gates. Before he could think of something that wasn’t suicide, the basement door opened. A man with a rifle stood at the top of the stairs. _It’s fine. Get through breakfast, get the fuck out, and deal with it at the embassy._

Dany stopped at the top of the stairs, still holding his hand, and looked back with a flirtatious smile. “I’ll text you when I’m back in the States,” she said, louder than necessary. “We _must_ do that again.” She gave him a slight tug, and Jon stumbled into plain view of her kitchen table.

Davos and Tyrion were wearing the same clothes they’d worn to dinner, minus the ties and suit jackets, leaving Jon and Dany conspicuously underdressed. Tyrion spotted them and burst out laughing. Davos was about to have an aneurism.

Sitting across from him, Tyrion reached into his pocket and took the liberty of pouring a mini-bottle of vodka into Davos’s orange juice. “Oh, you poor man,” he gloated.

“Couldn’t sleep upstairs, eh?” Asked the chief of staff. He pushed his plate away.

A young woman in a skimpy silk robe silently took the plate. _That girl wants to be here as much as I do,_ Jon could sense. Same for the other servant in a matching robe, practically trembling in the corner. _This woman is a monster. A complete fucking monster._ How could he have missed it?

Feigning cluelessness, Dany let go of his hand and skipped over to the table. “Good morning, everyone!” She sat, and drummed on the table with her palms. Jon sat across from her and next to Davos, because it was his only choice. Davos kicked him under the table. _You’re worried about the press, but that's_ _the least of our problems._

“Who wants bacon?” She was relishing this. It added to her 'I just got laid' glow. “Hard to come by in this part of the world, except for lairs of sin and depravity like this one.” Her eyes lingered on Jon just long enough to make him deeply uncomfortable. Davos cleared his throat and took a sip of his orange juice.

Tyrion raised a finger. “Burn it black. It’s not _haram_ if it’s more soot than pig. Or so I’ve been told. By no one.”

Dany smiled, nodded, and turned to Jon. “Senator? Bacon?”

A million thoughts ran through Jon’s head; all the terrible things she might do if he gave the wrong answer. _Fuck it, there is no right answer._ “No, thank you.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at one of the underdressed, terrified girls. “One side of _halal_ soot-bacon.” The girl nodded deeply, almost bowing, and left the room. Dany turned back to her guests. “Since you’re here, would you mind if I subjected you to a shameless sales pitch?”

“Have you ever been ashamed of a sales pitch?” Tyrion sighed.

“Nope.” Dany stuck a hand in the air. An iPad landed in it, seemingly from nowhere. The second girl with the robe slid silently back to her place. “This,” she explained, setting up a video, “is from the helmet cam of a soldier wearing our latest body armor.”

 _It’s the fucking ambush._ There was no music, but it was unmistakably the same video that Jon could have sworn an hour ago was his real life and death. He did his best not to look at the screen.

At the end, instead of darkness and rape, was a young soldier. He wore his dress uniform, and sat in front of a black background with the red three-headed dragon logo of Dany’s company in the center of the screen.

“The doctors said I’d be dead if it wasn’t for that armor,” the man explained. “So many things went wrong on that mission. I shouldn't be alive after that. But here I am.” He choked up. “That was my salvation. I owe my life to it.” He pulled out a tissue and wiped his nose. “Anyone who thinks it’s not worth the price should see what I’ve seen. It’s _treason_ not to put our soldiers in that armor.”

Dany stopped the video. “Powerful, isn’t it?”

Davos rolled his eyes. “And you want us to write you a check for it.”

“Three billion for all combat troops currently deployed.”

“And if you spend ten billion, you get a free set of steak knives,” Tyrion added.

Ignoring that, Dany grinned and turned to Jon again. “Would you like to sponsor that request? It should help tremendously when some anonymous SuperPAC pays an old Army buddy of yours to call you a coward who hates the troops.”

Davos was sick of this shit, and answered before Jon could get a word out. “We’ll take it under advisement.”

“Fair enough.” Dany turned to the soldier, still standing by the basement door. “Captain, have the embassy send a motorcade for our guests. I’m sure they have a busy day.” The soldier nodded and left, and Dany turned back to Jon. “I should let you get dressed. Sorry I subjected you to that, but I had to take advantage of the captive audience.” She paused. “You’re a good sport.”

 _A good sport._ “...Yeah.” Jon rose and went upstairs, followed conspicuously by a guard who had appeared from the ether. He showered and dressed, with the guard never more than a few feet away.

The front door was open by the time he came downstairs. Davos was waiting for him, still pissed. “Let’s go.”

Jon followed him out the door and into the motorcade; he and Davos in one car, and Tyrion in another.

“Have Lannister clear his schedule,” he ordered Davos, as soon as the door closed. “I want to meet with him as soon as we’re back at the embassy. And cancel the rest of the trip. We need to get back to DC.”

Davos rested his phone face-down on his leg, and looked out the window. “You fucked her. Don’t bullshit me.” He turned back to his boss.

The pained expression on Jon’s face was far more than embarrassment, or reluctance to admit a mistake, but that’s how Davos took it.

“Admit it now, and we can manage it. It’s a year until the Iowa caucuses. Break it off, stop taking her money, and it will die down. But if you do it again, you’re _fucked_.”

“You don’t understand. Fuck Iowa. That woman needs to be locked up.”

Davos looked at him, confused.

Jon stuck a finger in his face. “Get on the fucking phone and set up the meeting. _Now._ ” Davos placed a call to Tyrion’s scheduler, and arranged the meeting. Jon grabbed the phone from him before he could hang up, and shouted into the mic. “And don’t let him get drunk!”

He beat Tyrion to his own office, and waited nervously. The ambassador strolled in through a side entrance, and hopped into the chair behind his desk.

“Alright, why are we here?” He folded his hands on the desk. “You want to switch parties? Because I'll caution you, most of our warmongering billionaires aren’t nearly that hot.” As the president’s brother, and one of the few sane Republicans left, Tyrion Lannister was Jon’s best hope at convincing anyone who mattered that he wasn’t full of shit.

Jon smacked the desk. “ _Stop._ Please. Let me talk.” He told them everything, holding back nothing, even confessing their affair. No one had the slightest idea what to say when he finished.

“So...” Tyrion began, still dumbstruck. “What do you want to do?”

“What do I want to _do?!_ Put her ass in jail! She is  _the_  biggest threat to national security. She’s balls-deep in everything we do, and she’s _nuts!_ ”

Tyrion couldn’t disagree, but didn’t seem to grasp the urgency. “Look, I’ll call the White House, but my sister will want some kind of proof. And even if she takes your word for it, we still have to figure out how to go after Daenerys without shutting down the whole military.”

Jon let out an exasperated sigh. _It’s true, though._ “Raid her house. See what they find in her basement. It’s like _Silence of the Lambs_ down there!”

“And then what?” Tyrion challenged him. “Arrest her for playing rough with a guy who asked for it on tape? If you want to convict her, you’ll need an dozen other victims, _and_ they’ll have to be willing to testify. Good luck with that. Or, you have to catch her in the act, or have her admit it to someone wearing a wire. That could take months, _at least_ , and that’s if she doesn’t get wind of it, which she almost certainly will.”

That wasn’t politics; that was reality. _She’s invincible._ Maybe she really was more demon than woman.

Davos put a hand on Jon’s knee, and looked to Tyrion. “Can we have a minute?”

“Of course.” Tyrion stood and left.

“Listen,” Davos began, when the Republican was out of earshot. “I believe you, because who in their right mind would make that up? This is all kinds of crazy, and I have no idea how to handle it. But I’ve been in politics since you were in diapers, and you just might be the best leader I’ve ever seen.” He leaned in. “I don’t blame you if you want quit politics and get as far away from that woman as you can, but Cersei Lannister has fucked this country sideways for eight years, and you might be the only one left who can un-fuck it. So if you still want this, even a little bit, you need to finish this trip. You have to show you can play with the big boys on the world stage.”

Jon groaned. _Don’t quit over her. Don’t give her that power. Run, win, and destroy her._ “Fine. Let’s do it.”

So they did. Out of some combination of pity for Jon and fear of Daenerys, Tyrion agreed not to speak a word of what Jon had told him. And it was a successful trip, as trips like this went. Jon visited the oil fields near Kuwait, the Syrian border, and Kurdistan, where that militia seemed to have simply vanished after Dany’s drone strike on their leader. The American press was mostly positive; MSNBC called him a ‘natural statesman,’ and even Fox had to admit he’d done nothing to humiliate himself.

Dany never showed her face, but her presence was everywhere in the form of her guards, who had been charged with escorting Jon and his delegation around the country. _It’s a huge conglomerate,_ he had to remind himself. _There’s no way they all know what she is._ And she couldn’t simply abduct him. Someone would notice that.

Jon spent the last night of his trip safely within the confines of the American embassy. The last item on his agenda was a private meeting the next morning with the Iraqi Prime Minister, at his residence in the Republican Palace, a massive, imposing compound that had once been occupied by Saddam, but had since been converted to mostly bureaucratic offices.

“Hizdahr zo Loraq is what passes for reasonable over here,” Tyrion briefed him. “He'll kiss your ass, hit you up for some free money, and ask you to look the other way while he steals even more money from other people. So basically, it’s like any meeting you’ve ever taken in Washington.”

The assessment was more or less correct. Hizdahr was a dignified man; a bit aloof, but cordial, well-versed in policy, and genuinely interested in making Iraq a safe, prosperous, more-or-less free country. His interest, however, had yet to translate to success. Most of the country was still controlled by one militia or another, most of whom hated each other, and all of whom hated the central government. That made it less than surprising when Hizdahr brought up the Arms Export Control Act, which limited what American defense contractors could sell to foreign governments.

“We’ve found the security contractors quite effective in making Baghdad safe,” Hizdahr explained. Jon wouldn’t call it ‘safe,’ but he couldn’t deny it looked far more peaceful than the last time he’d been there. “If the American law was not so strict, we could—”

 _Make Daenerys Targaryen that much richer? That much more powerful?_ The point of the law was to preserve America’s military advantage by keeping other countries from buying all the fanciest weapons, but the fact that it made Daenerys’s life slightly more difficult was a side benefit that made Jon support it all the more.

Jon launched into a polite, long-winded “no,” but was interrupted by a violent knock at the door. Davos and Tyrion entered, but stayed near the threshold.

“We gotta go,” Davos announced. Tyrion nodded in agreement.

Two Iraqi soldiers muscled them aside and made for the Prime Minister’s desk, shouting in Arabic and lifting him up by his arms. Three of Dany’s contractors barged in behind them. One of them, who seemed to be in command, pointed to Jon. “Get him downstairs.”

Jon stood and stopped them before they could grab him. “What’s happening?”

“The building’s been breached,” the commander explained. “We need to get you to a safe room.”

Tyrion waved his hand dismissively. “Somebody probably farted by a sensor. We’re fine.”

“He’s right, it’s probably nothing,” the commander assured him. Hizdahr seemed annoyed but unconcerned, which made Jon comfortable enough to follow him.

After leading them down several flights of stairs and a long, colorless hallway, one of the Iraqi soldiers pressed his palm against a fingerprint reader, which slid open a thick metal door. Jon flinched at the memory of the last time he passed through a thick metal door, but entered anyway.

The “safe room” was actually several rooms, and not only safe but also quite comfortable, with a large TV against the back wall, a desk along the side with a nice leather office chair, carpeting, a full kitchen with a well-stocked bar, and a reclining leather sectional couch.

Tyrion jumped onto the couch and turned on the TV, perfectly at home. _Fox News, naturally._ Some anchor was babbling about how Jon hates the troops and thinks he’s better than them.

“Sorry,” Tyrion looked back to Jon, who was still standing near the doorway. “I can--”

Jon rolled his eyes. “It’s fine.”

The words “BREAKING NEWS” appeared on the screen. No one cared, since Fox had long ago started using that for every transition between stories. Then came the picture, and all heads turned to the screen. “GUNFIRE REPORTED AT IRAQI PM’S PALACE.”

Hizdahr stood next to Jon and looked to his guards. They crouched against the back of the couch, facing the metal door. The contractors took up positions in the corners.

Silence took over, save for the television. The pundits knew nothing, but speculated nonetheless. Terrorists were Fox’s prime suspects; “radical Islamic terrorists” specifically. Or maybe Kurdish separatists, or maybe some general who wanted a go at running things and didn’t feel like waiting for an election.

Jon noticed there was no exit except the metal door. “So if the palace falls, we just stay here?”

“Yes,” Tyrion explained. “There’s no way out, but there’s no way in, either. We have a month’s worth of food in here. Plenty of time for someone to come save us.”

“And if nobody saves us?”

Tyrion shrugged. “Then we're a bit fucked, I suppose.” The screen changed from a satellite map of Baghdad to a live shot of smoke rising from windows on one of the upper floors. “Well, shit…”

Jon folded his arms and paced, then stopped abruptly. Muffled gunshots broke out in the hallway.

The soldiers readied their rifles and crouched. One of the contractors squeezed a radio mic clipped to his shoulder. “Go.” Jon felt a pit in his stomach. _‘Go’ where?_

Davos grabbed Jon’s arm and tugged. “You want to get shot?! Get behind the couch!”

“No.” Jon yanked his arm away. He stood aside, but knew he wouldn’t be shot; he just _knew._ And he would not let her see him cower.

The door slid open as Davos and Tyrion hid between the couch and the TV. The Iraqi soldiers aimed their rifles for half a second, but fired no shots. They removed their ammunition magazines and set them down on the floor, followed by the rifles themselves, then lowered their heads. The contractors followed suit, but kept their rifles loaded.

 _Yup._ In she walked, all smiles and sunshine, not a hair out of place. She wore a black Kevlar vest over a tight wool sweater, matching jeans tucked into boots made for anything but combat, and a belt with a pistol in its holster.

“Good morning!” She said it like she were kicking off a Monday staff meeting. Half a dozen men, all hers, filed in and spread throughout the room.

Daenerys went straight for the Iraqis, both of whom lowered themselves even further. She extended her hand, letting each one kiss it. Two of her men came forward, each with a briefcase. Dany motioned for the Iraqis to look up. The men opened the briefcases, stuffed with stacks of hundred dollar bills, then closed them again.

“Rise.” The Iraqis stood, and her men handed over the briefcases. Dany pointed back toward the door. “Go. _Yalla._ ”

When the Iraqis were halfway toward the door, the men who had carried the briefcases turned, pulled pistols, and shot them in the back. The Iraqis fell to the floor, blood pooling beneath them. Dany’s men retrieved the briefcases and set them aside.

She flashed a smile at Jon, then turned to the terrified dignitaries behind the couch. “You look ridiculous. Get up.”

Davos and Tyrion stood, with their hands laced behind their heads. Hizdahr bolted for the door.

Dany laughed. “Run, Forrest, run!” Her soldiers clotheslined him and slit his throat. She seemed mildly entertained.

“How did you get in here?” Davos asked, as a soldier zip-tied his wrists.

Dany stuck her palm out and gestured. “The little handprint thingy.” She smiled at his confusion. “I _sold_ them the handprint thingy.”

She pointed to Tyrion, also restrained. “This one works for me, now. Set up his health insurance.”

One of her men picked up Tyrion and carried him out of the room like a football, to set up his health insurance. Dany turned to Davos. “You, I have to interview. Do you know how to use pivot tables in Microsoft Excel?”

“...What?”

Dany scrunched her nose and shook her head. The soldier who tied Davos’s hands pushed him into a kneeling position, then stood aside as Dany moved behind.

Davos went pale. “Wait, no, what are you doing?!”

With only an annoyed sigh in response, Dany casually pointed the gun behind his head and pulled the trigger. Davos fell face-first to the floor. She turned to Jon, smirking. “What! We use a lot of pivot tables!”

Jon pointed at Davos and shouted. “That was a good man! He didn’t do anything to you!”

”Nor did he do anything _for_ me.” It irked her that she had to explain that.

 _Fuck this._ The instant Dany’s hand left her gun, Jon lunged for it. He managed to get it part of the way out of its holster, which made Dany pull away, and flash him a look of genuine surprise and fear. _Good._ He almost managed to grip it again, but a soldier tripped him from behind, and he found himself staring into his friend’s dead eyes. Jon felt the cold metal barrel of the soldier’s rifle against his head. _At least I didn’t go quietly._

“Stop!” Dany shouted, her voice still shaking from her brief moment of humanity. “I love him. He dies when I command it, and not a second earlier.”

The soldier muttered an apology and yanked Jon to his feet.

“Make him comfortable.” Dany pointed to the leather chair by the desk. The soldiers dragged him toward the desk, pulled out the chair, and tied his arms to it, cuffing his ankles behind the cylinder that connected the seat to the base. “Everyone but the captain, take the bodies and get out.”

As the men left, Dany hopped up onto the desk, and motioned for the captain to wheel Jon closer.

“You still don’t understand what’s happening, do you?” She smiled, stroked his cheek, and spat in his face. “You still don’t know what I am.”

Jon wanted to come back at her; to tell her he knew exactly what she was, and that she was far more common, and far less terrifying, than she fancied herself. _Don't say it, or she'll want to prove you wrong._ A growing part of him feared she might succeed.

Dany unzipped her pants and pulled them down to her knees, until the boots stopped them, then looked to her captain and snapped her fingers. _He's the one from the basement door._

Not the least bit fazed, because apparently this was his job, the man adusted the height of Jon’s chair as Dany lifted her legs. He found himself inches away from her pussy, neatly trimmed as always. _She’s insane if she wants me to lick that,_ Jon resolved, though part of him missed that sweet thing between her legs. _It’s_ _not the pussy’s fault it’s attached to a megalomaniac._

Just when the sensible part of his mind wrested control from the stupid, Dany fired two shots at the wall behind him and dug the gun barrel into his cheekbone, just below his eye. Jon winced at the deafening sound, then clenched his mouth and grunted, as the heat from the barrel seared his skin.

“Make your face useful,” Dany growled, twisting the gun, “or I’ll make it a stain on the carpet.”

 _Gain her trust, and sooner or later she’ll make a mistake._ Rationalization or not, it was his only choice. He closed his eyes, pressed his face against her, and made it useful.

For all the ways Work Dany was so unlike the woman he’d known in America, her scent and taste were exactly the same; as were the soft little moans she made when his tongue stroked her clit how she liked. It enraged him, in fact. _She knows I’m fighting the urge to enjoy this._ Like when she rode him until he finished inside her, taunting him that she’d use it to make a whole new person, his flesh and blood mixed with her own; that she'd use that person's existence to destroy his life, and that his body and willpower were defenseless against hers.  _She gets off on that._

He wondered if this had gone through her mind every time they fucked; if he’d ever made her come from his body and skill alone; if that was even possible, or if the only way to truly please Daenerys was to serve as fodder for the evil inside.

 _Just keep your eyes closed. Pretend this isn't real._ He wished she'd pump him full of drugs like last time, to do the pretending for him.

“Open your fucking eyes.” _Of course she says that. There’s no refuge from her. Ever._

Jon looked up. All hope of escape, even in his imagination, vanished. Her eyes were narrow and her face contemptuous. A low, soft, steady growl that escaped from between her closed lips. Her flared nostrils and heavy breathing were the only hints that she might see a downside to wasting him on the spot.

Dany moved the gun a few inches, to get a better look at his eyes. “What’s my name?” _Don’t take your mouth away._ Her eyes said it for her, as they so often did.

“Dany,” Jon mumbled, making sure his tongue went right back to work.

She pressed the gun harder against his face. “You think you're my _friend?!_ What's my name!”

“Daenerys Targaryen!” He hoped that the few extra syllables of mumbling were clear enough.

They must have been, as she tightened her thighs around his head. “Who decides if you live or die?”

 _It's a game to her, just go with it._ “You do.”

“Who’s your only master?”

“You are.” _Let her think that._

Her hips sped up, and her face struggled to hide the pleasure. “Who’s gonna rape you every _fucking_ day until she's pregnant?!”

The other questions were easy enough to play along with. That one felt like she'd torn out a piece of his soul with her bare hands. “You are,” he swallowed hard and replied.

“And who will wipe you off this earth like a bug from my shoe if you _ever_ resist me again?!”

“You will.”

“Fuck yes, I will. _Personally._ And I won't be nearly as nice to you as I was to your friend. I'll be slow, and mean, and creative.” She locked his head between her thighs, speaking more to herself than to him. “I'll do things no decent person can even conceive. I'll destroy you; body, mind, and soul. No one will recognize you as a _person_ by the time I'm done. You'll look back on the day I drugged you up and raped you as the luckiest day of your short, miserable life. _Do you understand me?!_ ”

“Mm hm!!” He nodded furiously, sucked her clit, and looked as deeply into her eyes as he could. It wasn't the threat that concerned him; Jon was fairly confident it would take more than “resisting” before she'd kill him as punishment. _I almost shot her with her own gun, after she killed two guys to save money, one because he ran, and another for sucking at spreadsheets. She spared me for a reason._

What scared him was the prospect that she might just do it for shits one day; that whatever made her so terrible would overpower whatever understanding of love and decency she had left. _Would she care so much after a line of coke and a bad day at the office?_

“Bullshit!” She lifted her legs, pulled them back, and planted both heels in his chest. The chair slid back, until her 'captain' stopped it and tipped Jon onto his back.

“You _still_ don’t understand.” She loomed over him and kicked him in the side of the head before lowering herself onto his face, this time facing away from him. “You haven’t even _begun_ to understand, but you will. _Lick!_ ”

As he complied, Dany unzipped his pants and clenched his balls in a tight fist. “Finish me, slut, before I get ideas!”

 _You already have the ideas._ That was obvious from the way her clit pulsed and her fist tightened from the slightest brush of his tongue. _They just come to you. You can't stop them, can you? How long have you lived like this?_

Dany screamed as loud and as hard as he'd ever heard her scream, like when he'd fuck her so wildly that she had to work to keep up, which was no small feat. He felt himself getting hard from the memory, which only infuriated him again.

She adjusted herself a bit, so she could reach his cock with her mouth. “This shit is _MINE!!_ ” And she took him inside. _Fuck, that's good._ He tried to remind himself that it was all nerves and blood and chemicals, that there were millions of women who could suck his cock just fine, and that nothing this woman did could change the fact that she was a horrible person and a direct, imminent threat to his physical safety. He failed, and lost himself in it.

Jon could feel her reaching the edge. _Take her over._ That was deeply fucked up. _Deal with it_ _later._

Dany let out a loud, pleading scream onto his cock, and gripped his thighs because they happened to be there. Her body buckled, and Jon felt his work pay off, all over his chin. As she relaxed and slowed down, she showed him a bit of mercy for once, and raised her crotch enough for him to breathe. _She's probably just sore,_ he realized. _Whatever, I'll take it._

For a moment, things were how they used to be. Jon grunted and basked in the pleasure of the skilled, eager mouth, working his cock like no one else ever had. _That's how she dragged me into this to begin with._ But as she'd proven before, Dany's body had the power to deprive him of fucks to give. Jon felt himself writhing against his restraints as his muscles tightened. He grunted, threw his head back, and succumbed.

Dany wiped her mouth, stood, and pulled her pants up. “I'm glad we were able to do that,” she smiled as the captain set him upright. “I should be on my period by now, and I would never ask you to do _that_ , that's just cruel.” _Of course you wouldn't ‘ask.’_ She grinned wryly, sat on the desk, and pulled his chair close. “But it seems I'm a bit late this month.” _‘I wonder why,’_ her smile finished the thought.

 _No child deserves you as their mother._ He almost said it, as his cock gave way to his conscience.

Dany leaned in and inspected him. “Oh no!” She licked her thumb and rubbed it against his face, like a mother wiping schmutz off a kindergartner. “You've got a little scar from the gun barrel! Poor thing. It's cute, though.”

Jon took a deep breath. _Enough games._ “So, I’m your hostage now, right?” He tugged the ropes to demonstrate. “Clearly there’s nothing I can do about it, so for the sake of whatever I thought we were, can you please just give me a straight answer?”

“I’m afraid the straightest answer is yes and no.” Dany slid down to her feet. “As far as the world knows, you're some drug cartel's hostage, and I'm doing my best to find you. But hostages are bargaining chips, and you’re far too precious to trade away.” She straddled and kissed him. “You, Jon Snow, are my slave. My lover. My victim. You're my husband, and the only man worthy. You’re meat. And prey. And the father of my heirs. I stormed a palace for you, and that's only the beginning of our life together.”

 _Jesus Christ._ “I appreciate the gift, but the Iraqis may want their palace back. This isn’t 2003. Iraq is a sovereign country, now.”

Another 'Breaking News' alert. Dany’s ears perked up at the grave tone of the anchor’s voice. Her eyes blazed with twisted glee, but stayed fixed on Jon. She turned his chair toward the screen, as a black and red flag rose above the palace’s central dome. “Oh, if anyone should know that, it’s me,” Dany replied. “I’m the sovereign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It recently occurred to me that it would be awesome if someone could draw or otherwise visually depict “Modern Dany.” Visual art is not my strong suit at all. If anyone is interested in doing so, please leave a comment. My only criteria is that it not involve photoshopping Emilia Clarke. That’s lame and a bit creepy.


	4. Daenerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squeeze. Twist. Crush. Release.

Dany stepped out onto her patio, lit a cigarette, and looked up at the night sky as she exhaled. _Last one._ She’d had a few over the course of the day, which was rare for her, but given the circumstances, she permitted herself the indulgence. The tension in the city around her was palpable, but her residence itself, and the surrounding compound were eerily silent, save for the distant thumping of helicopters, hovering watchfully over the city. _Remember this_ _,_ she urged herself. _This might be your last moment alone as you._

Minutes prior, after nine months as the ‘emergency’ head of its ‘interim’ government, the woman known as Dany had been raised by a ‘free and fair’ referendum to Her Majesty Daenerys the First, Queen of the Kingdom of Iraq by the Will of God and Her Subjects.

She’d first taken power out of necessity, you see. Her contractors had saved the day after Kraznys’s army miraculously rebuilt itself, stormed the Republican Palace, and killed the Prime Minister. Clearly the government had failed to protect its people, and it was too dangerous to hold elections right away, of course. So Daenerys generously agreed to run the country, root out the traitors, and restore peace.

The whole world found this crazy and highly suspicious, but no one denied that Dany had secured the peace that eluded Iraq for a generation. She pitted the rebels against each other, buying them off, dividing them into smaller and smaller factions, until they were all too weak and divided to matter. Rebels who surrendered quietly were put to work on massive infrastructure projects, and paid remarkably well for people who would be shot if they tried to quit. Funding came from skyrocketing oil revenues, after she nationalized the oil industry and immediately engaged her own company to run the drills, and refineries, and the port at Um Qasr. The only promise she had yet to fulfill was to find Jon Snow, the American senator captured during the attack. But that wasn’t her fault; he was probably dead, anyway.

Dany got away with all this by establishing a police state that made East Germany look lax. Cops and cameras were everywhere. Phone were tapped. Internet was severely restricted, and the news was what she said it was. Critics were abducted in the dead of night for “re-education.” Religion was permitted, so long as no cleric questioned her right to rule.

That bunched up some panties at the UN, but there was little the rest of the world could do about it. Iran and the Gulf states immediately tried to curry her favor, each looking for an ally against the other. And as she’d done in American politics, and her company’s boardroom, Dany played both sides. The Israelis were happy to have someone else in the region who didn’t want them all dead, and the West lacked the political will to start yet another war in that fucking country.

Business interests saw the light quickly, when they learned what she was willing to pay for subcontractors. Almost overnight, the working class went from scrapers-by to consumers, and thanked her for undeniably making the streets safer and the trains run the fuck on time.

A 'popular movement’ developed 'organically,’ calling for the re-establishment of the Kingdom of Iraq, which had been overthrown in 1958. And none could think of a more suitable monarch than the woman who had rescued them from chaos, and who, under highly creative interpretations of British succession laws, was already royalty in exile. For all the good she’d done, nobody actually believed the Iraqis wanted some white lady to rule them for life with no checks and balances, but no one who mattered was stupid enough to say so.

She didn’t look like royalty that night, but as far as Dany was concerned, one of the perks of a throne that had only come into existence five minutes ago, after twenty years of her own labor, was that she alone decided what ‘looked like royalty.’

Her crown was simple, as crowns went; almost spartan. A white gold band an inch and a half wide, with alternating diamonds and rubies, set between two rows of black diamonds. Nothing on top to make her look like a walking penis, and no tacky-ass pointy shit around the sides, because she was The Fucking Queen, not the birthday girl at Chuck E. Cheese. The rest of her outfit, a [black Versace wool-jersey mini dress ](https://imgur.com/IL5EHTf) with non-existent panties, [ matching boots](https://imgur.com/i4NqCNw), and a small [ Chloé shoulder bag ](https://imgur.com/dQiWxye) with nothing in it but a pack of cigarettes and a coiled-up bullwhip, was fit neither for a traditional monarch nor anything involving ice cream cake.

A speech was in order, and she meant to give it, but not in her present state. _Feed the beast._ The power rush was too strong, even for her. If she didn't get it out of her system, she’d look every bit the raging, wild-eyed tyrant her father was, rather than the inscrutable, steely-eyed tyrant she’d worked so hard to become.

Wordlessly and alone, Dany took another drag and made her way along the edge of her pool. At the far end sat a small building that served as a break room for her guards. Two men inside stopped their idle chatter and took a knee as she entered, but she waved silently for them to carry on, and headed straight for a back room. Three Doberman pinschers barked furiously in their cage when she opened the door, but shut the fuck up and sat when she entered and narrowed her eyes. _My little baby boys!_ They were anything but babies; full-grown, lean and muscular, with cropped ears and docked tails. But they were most certainly boys. Perfectly intact boys.

Their master opened the cage, and tapped her thigh, just above the knee. “Come on.” They filed out, nice and orderly, because they were such good little babies. With no need for leashes, Dany calmly led them outside, back across the patio, into the house, and down to the basement.

Under dim fluorescent lights, at the edge of the metal grate in the center of the room, the missing and probably dead senator slept on bruised, bloody knees, his body too exhausted to stay awake for the agony. His arms dangled from the ceiling by separate chains; his elbows bent at right angles. He was naked, with his cock and balls trapped between two pieces of wood in a mini stockade that Dany’s men had bolted to the floor. A few feet away was a two-gallon metal bucket filled with ice water, with a tire iron next to it.

Dany set her bag down on the counter, and her cigarette in an ashtray. _Ugh, sleepy boys are so fucking cute._ But the feeling between her legs and the thoughts racing through her mind were too strong and too dark for 'cute.’ _Sobbing_ _boys with ruined backs are cuter._

His breath picked up ever so slightly, as if he sensed her presence. _Don’t dillydally._ As the dogs watched, Dany lifted the bucket and dumped the ice water over Jon’s cute, sleepy head. The Dobermans knew the drill and pounced, barking wildly, climbing all over him, pawing and nipping and growling at him. They were sweethearts, in truth, and wouldn’t hurt a fly unless it threatened their master. This was play to them, but like their master, their concept of play was a bit warped.

Jon startled awake and screamed, thrashing in every direction, as far as he could go without ripping his trapped cock off. “What! What did I do?! I didn't do anything!” Jon had already figured out that Dany’s urges bore no relationship to whether he’d ‘done anything,’ but he sometimes forgot when he'd just woken up.

Dany ignored the question and shouted over the dogs, because this was her country, and _habeas corpus_ was for pussies. “You know what I hate about people from Minnesota?!”

“Fuck! Stop! What!” One of the dogs tried to fuck Jon’s knee, which made her smile.

“Whenever they’re cold, they tell you a story about a time they were colder!” She dropped the empty bucket over his head and smacked it with the tire iron, back and forth, over and over. “I know you've been colder! I just don't give a shit, so _shut the fuck up!_ ” One last swing, like a baseball bat, for emphasis. “Alright?!”

“Alright! Alright! Ow! Please! Jesus!”

“Good,” Dany replied sweetly. She snapped her fingers. “ _Ssh!_ ” The dogs went silent, and helped themselves to a steak she'd left in a corner the day before, for Jon to see and smell but never hope to taste.

She tossed the bucket and tire iron aside, retrieved her whip and cigarette from the counter, then came back and lifted his chin until his eyes met hers. Shivering, with water dripping from his hair and nose, Jon looked up at her with that adorable, ‘please have mercy’ pout. _Fuck no. Have you seen what’s on my head? You know what power does to me._

Resting one boot on his stockade, Dany took a final drag of her cigarette, blew the smoke in his face, and snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “Tongue.”

Jon grimaced. “No, not that, it burns, please…”

She lifted his eyelids to hold them open, and waved the tip of the cigarette between his eyes. “Which one, then?” He trembled. _Mmm._ “ _Something’s_ getting burned tonight, and you’re lucky I’ve only got a cigarette. _Pi_ _ck!_ ”

Wisely, but pitifully, Jon stuck his tongue out. _Why do you assume that offer still stands?_

“Might be too late for that,” Dany grinned. “You've got me curious, now. Can a cigarette melt an eye? Would it blind you? How loud would you scream? Would you scream from the pain? Or the terror, when you see how easily I could  _rip your body apart,_ piece by piece, like meat off a spit? You’d be screaming now, if you knew how horny I am just thinking about it.” She slid a hand under her dress, and wiped the proof on his face.

Jon put on his brave, stoic face, which made her wet.  _He’s pretty sure I’d do it._  And the monster was so strong and all-consuming that she almost did. _No, you need him mostly intact._  That was all that saved him. She pinched his tongue between her thumb and forefinger, and pressed the cigarette firmly down onto the center.

“You have no idea how close I was,” Dany warned him, holding his tongue in place with her fingernails, patiently waiting out his screams. When he stopped, she flicked the butt down the grate, then smiled, stood back, and twirled playfully. “Notice anything different?”

Jon’s eyes went to the crown. He kept his tone flat, and chose his words carefully. “When did that happen?”

“It ‘happened’ the day I was born. All I did tonight was collect what’s mine.” She smiled. “Part of it, at least.”

Jon sighed. “Good for you.”

“And for you, eventually,” Dany added. “Short-term unpleasantness notwithstanding.” She walked over to a counter, retrieved some thin piano wire, and tied one end to the cuff on his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Jon’s voice made clear he was rapidly losing interest in playing the badass.

Dany ignored him, crouched, and looped the wire around his cock and balls.

“Seriously,” Jon pleaded “what are you doing?!”

She stood back up and tied the other end of the wire to the cuff on his other wrist. “Flail around too much, and that loop will tighten.” Grinning like a nut, she flicked the head of his cock with the toe of her boot. “That will hurt quite a bit. You might even slice your own cock off, if you do it hard enough. That would amuse me greatly.” Her grin grew ever nuttier.

He sighed again, in resignation that nothing he could say would stop her from doing as she pleased. No begging, no bargaining, no flattery, no threats, no insults. Her will was paramount, and always would be. _I just claimed the cradle of civilization for myself, because I wanted it. You’re a fidgeting, babbling meat sack in a windowless room. It’s the natural order, pure and simple._

Dany got her butt plug from a drawer behind Jon’s back, and coated it with lube. Proper lube, this time, because the vinegar in the tabasco sauce would weaken the LSD in the tiny paper blotter she placed daintily near the tip.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she knelt, and spread Jon’s cheeks apart. “Open your little rape hole for Daddy.”

“No, come on, please, I've been good!”

 _Jesus Christ, we’ve been over this a thousand times._ “‘Good’ only matters when I say it does,” Daddy reminded him, as she slid it in regardless. “ _Nothing_ matters unless I say it does.” She smacked it firmly with her palm. “Surely, you’ve learned that by now.” The smack to the plug made him thrust his chest out, which tightened the wire, which made him gasp, whimper, and pull himself back. Dany smirked, blushed, and fanned herself.

“Yes, yes, I know!” Jon assured her in a comically high-pitched voice. “I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not.” Dany grabbed her whip and positioned herself behind him. “You’re still clinging to your free will. You’re still trying to survive today, and hope you can escape me tomorrow. But Daddy will fix that.” She cracked the whip loud on the floor, catching the dogs’ attention. They trotted back to Jon, as the scent of his fear rekindled their interest.

Dany raised an eyebrow at her babies. _Smells yummy, doesn’t it? Scare him some more._ They snarled and showed their teeth. One of them sniffed at his helpless cock. _Mmmm._ “Shall we begin?”

“Yes!”

Dany cracked the whip again. “ _Rude!_ ”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Yes, please!” Jon tried hopelessly to squirm away from the dog, which only made his penis more fascinating to them.

“Please, _who?!_ ”

“Please, Daddy! Please!”

 _That word will never get old._ Female honorifics never did it for Dany. 'Ma’am’ and ‘Madam’ made her sound old. ‘Miss’ implied she was somehow incomplete because she hadn’t married yet. ‘Mistress’ and ‘Goddess’ made her sound like a professional dominatrix, which she most certainly was not, as payment implied consent, which ruined the fun. Even ‘Your Majesty’ sounded contrived. _I’m a queen, not a bald eagle._

But she fucking loved being called 'Daddy,' partly because Jon so clearly despised it. The patriarchy had apparently raised him to believe that a Real Man would rather let a dog rip his dick off than say something vaguely feminine, because Dignity. But most importantly, Dany was a huge sucker for gender inversion. Because fuck it, if she had to live in a patriarchy, why not declare herself the patriarch? _I should be a guest lecturer at Smith._

“Good girl,” Dany replied. “This will be quick. Daddy’s got shit to do.”

The first lash was one of the hardest she'd ever given. She swung the whip like a machete, cutting through tall grass, landing the tip on his shoulder blade. _For my piece of shit father._ “ _Fuck_ you!” Jon didn’t respond, but Dany didn’t care. She wasn’t talking to him, anyway.

The second was even harder. _For everyone who told me what a shame it was that I’d never wield power._ She grunted like she had to dive and reach for a tennis ball that had almost gotten past her. Jon threw his arms back, then let out a prolonged scream from the wire.

 _More!_ _Harder!_ For the others, who whispered behind her back that it was probably for the best. “Do you _get it_ now?!”

Again, for every patronizing cunt who said she should be thankful for her family's wealth, and spend her life looking pretty in obscurity. “Do you see what happens to _anyone_ who gets between me and what’s mine?!”

“I see!” Jon shouted between breathless grunts. “Fuck, I see!”

 _No, he doesn’t._ “No, you don’t!” Still harder, and again, and again, until he bled. _For every shrink who said I should work on my control issues._ “I’ve only begun!”

More, again, and again, until there was nowhere left to strike but welts and bruises. _For everyone who said I was crazy to think I was born to subjugate, and others to kneel at my feet._ “Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?!”

“I’m no one! I’m no one!” Jon was trying to suck snot back into his nose. “Stop! Please! I’m no one!”

“ _SHUT THE FUCK UP!!_ ” The next one made him wail. _For anyone who thinks I need permission to take what’s mine._ And one last merciless thrash, for everyone, and no one, and because she fucking could.

Dany was too blinded with lust and fury to say, but she was pretty sure she tossed the whip behind her. _Whatever, it’s gone._ She stood there for a minute, her face red and heart racing, sweat beading on her brow, breathing fast and heavy. She felt strong enough to flip a car, and probably would have tried, had there been one handy.

As Jon composed himself, Dany walked over to a mirror. _Y_ _ou look like a fucking maniac._ Eyes wide and wild, teeth clenched, chest heaving, hair a disaster, like the caricature of her father from a political cartoon. That sobered her a bit. _You can’t go upstairs like this._

There was only one way to purge the rest of the crazy. Dany fished around in a drawer for a pair of wire cutters and marched back to Jon, grinning at him when he noticed them in her hand, and went pale.

“Oh, relax.” She teased, and freed him from the piano wire. Jon looked up at her in silent prayer that she might be done with him. _Nah._ She grabbed the chains that suspended his wrists, stepped up onto the wood that held his cock in place, and bounced playfully. “Think this can support my weight?”

Jon shook his head, in another silent prayer that she not test it any further.

Dany gasped and feigned anger. “Are you calling me fat?!”

“No, no, no, no, no…” In his present state, Jon didn’t grasp the humor.

She smiled. “No, you’re probably right, though. This is better.” Holding herself up by the chains, Dany lifted her knees and wrapped her legs around Jon’s head, pulling it into her crotch, and resting herself on his shoulders.

Jon knew what a pussy in the face meant, and went to work. Instinctively, he folded his elbows together, to spread her weight more evenly between his shoulders and arms.  _Good girl._

Dany grabbed his hair in one fist, still holding one chain with the other, and pulled him tighter to keep her balance. “Mm, such a good little slut,” she growled, “hold still while Daddy rapes your face.”

The boy had always been good at that, even before he met the monster that was Work Dany, and he knew better than to suddenly stop bringing his A-game. Her clit hardened, her eyes closed, her breath sped up, and she began to moan. For a moment, she felt like a normal woman, who could be satisfied getting her pussy licked by a normal, consenting man, without the stockades and Dobermans and ball-cutting wire.

Then she felt his face convulse. Dany couldn’t tell if he was crying or struggling to breathe, but either way, it sounded delicious. She hiked her dress up, over her belly button. “Keep your filthy snot and tears off Daddy’s dress.” She pulled her crotch away just long enough for him to gulp some air down, then thrust herself back against him.

It didn’t take long, as the lust had been building in her since the polls closed, and reached a boiling point when she turned his back into a work of abstract art. Jon’s mouth was nothing more than the warm, wet friction she needed to finally send herself over the edge. There was no time to draw it out, anyway. LSD up the ass bypassed that pesky liver of his on its way to the bloodstream, making for a quicker onset and more intense high. _Poor little bitch_ _will be tripping out of his mind any minute._

After what couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds, she grunted, spasmed, screamed, quivered, and coated that fucking face of his. _Mine._ In case he’d forgotten. She hopped off quickly off of her precarious position. _Best core workout ever._ On delightfully weak, quivering legs, she made her way back to the mirror. Her face was still red, and her hair even worse than before, but her eyes were markedly less crazed. _Much better._

“I'm letting you upstairs,” Dany announced, as she came back and dropped a pair of jeans and a sleeveless undershirt in front of him. “How long has it been?”

Jon sighed. “I don’t know...a year?” The senator had been deprived of natural light and a normal sleep schedule for far too long to make anything but a random guess.

Dany giggled as she unchained him and removed the plug, tossing it into the sink from the imaginary three-point line. “Sure, why not?” The dogs roused again, circling and sniffing, in case he tried anything stupid. _He won’t._ He still had his moments of stubbornness, but he hadn’t put up a serious fight in months. “Get dressed.”

Wincing from aching joints, Jon nonetheless obeyed. The clothes were a bit tight, and made him look like a Calvin Klein model who’d just lost a bar fight, which was pretty much Dany’s idea of the perfect male specimen. She found some old sneakers and hurled them at his chest in rapid succession. He swatted them away with a whiny little grunt, but put them on.

“Come on.” Dany headed for the stairs and motioned for him to follow. “There’s something I want you to see.”

Jon stopped. “That sounds like what you said to get me down here the first time.”

 _There’s that stubbornness._ A lesser woman would have shouted at him and given him some nonsense 'punishment,' but Dany wasn’t a lesser woman. Shouting and nonsense punishments were entertainment. True subjugation was work.  _'The mind is like a sponge,’_ as the cliché went, and Jon’s captivity had been one long, steady wringing-out of its contents. Nine months of squeezing and twisting him, over and over again, watching the free will drip out of him and vanish down the grate.

“Fair point,” Dany conceded. “But have I ever broken a promise not to hurt you?” _Squeeze._

“You’ve never _made_ a promise not to hurt me.”

“Very observant of you. Perhaps it’s significant that I’m making one now.” _Twist._

He still hesitated.

Dany sighed. “All you’ve wanted for quite some time is to make it out of this basement alive. Now, you have the chance, but you’d rather stay down here like a pussy, because you’re afraid what I might do to you upstairs?” _Crush it in your fists._ “The _world_ is upstairs,” she reminded him, “but it’s your choice.” _Release._ “You can stay down here and live in constant terror, until I get bored one day and kill you.” _Now squeeze again._ “Or, you can follow me upstairs. You’ll still live in constant terror, but _maybe_ die somewhere else, some other way.” _Twist._ “The terror will _never_ stop, nor should it.” _Crush._ “So which will it be?” _Release._

Jon’s face dropped, as he realized that for a second there, he’d actually tried to _stay_ in the basement. He looked at Dany like he’d just been pranked.

She smirked, and her eyes broke the news to him. _I’ve raped your mind so hard, you’ll be leaking cum from your ears until you die. That’s what your life is, now. Fucked up little thoughts like that._ “Also, there’s Chex Mix.”

Possibly hoping for Chex Mix, Jon accepted his fate, and put one foot in front of the other.

Daario met them at the top of the stairs, pouring the last crumbs from the Chex Mix box straight into his mouth. _Beautiful._ With him were two other guards, who quickly put Jon in shackles. Dobermans in tow, the captain led them to her front hall, with its massive chandelier and imposing marble staircase. A camera had been set up near the front door, trained on a podium in front of the stairs. Scattered about the room was a slew of lighting and sound equipment, but no teleprompter. _You were born for this. You don’t need a teleprompter._

Missandei stood next to the camera, in an [Alexander Wang dress](https://imgur.com/a/ughB07n) with a zipper conveniently down the front. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her; one of them holding an iPhone. She knelt when she spotted the queen, as did the camera crew.

“Rise.” Dany sat in a director’s chair, and composed her game face. “Where are the slaves? My hair’s a mess.”

Missandei snapped her fingers. Drape Girl and Closet Girl emerged from the shadows, as if they only existed when Dany had use for them. She smiled and nodded at her assistant, which was high praise by her standards. Missandei blushed. _Interesting. What do you actually think of me?_

Her Majesty turned to Daario, as the slaves went to work. “Unchain the senator.”

Daario was not expecting that, but shrugged and nodded to the other guards, who did as commanded.

She smiled, took Jon’s hand, and kissed it. _Squeeze._  “You’ll stand right here, behind the camera. No shackles, no gags, no tricks.” _Twist._  “Shout, or step into the shot, and my life gets much more difficult. You’d start a war that just might kill me. You’d die too, of course, as would thousands of innocent people.” _Crush._  “But you’d end your own suffering, and save the world from whatever you think I’m going to do to it. I want to see what you’ll do. I’m curious.”  _Release._

Dany could see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out the catch; to regain his moral bearing, that had once been so strong. _You have the prettiest little gears._

“Quickly,” Dany commanded the slaves. “I don’t have all day.”

When they finished, Dany ascended the stairs to prepare for her entrance. Missandei followed, as did Dany’s sweet little babies. _There’s no going back from this._ For half a second, she wanted to abandon it all; to find some Iraqi to take over as Prime Minister, pretend that was the plan all along, and go back to America with her dogs and her boy and her billions. _No,_ the beast that defined her insisted. _You're Caesar. Cross the Rubicon._

The camera rolled, and Dany solemnly descended the stairs, while Missandei remained at the top. A dog flanked her on either side, and the third behind her. The babies offset the slight whorishness of her outfit, as Dobermans do not generally convey ‘I’m easy.’ They did, however, convey that her brand of ruthlessness was colder and calmer than her father’s. That she was the leader of a pack of vicious animals, because she scared the fuck out of them, and made them fiercely loyal to her alone. That like them, she was graceful, quick, and deadly; that her beauty came with a sharp mind, so easy and dangerous to underestimate; that she was bred to rip out throats with efficiency and ease.

The dogs stopped and sat when she reached the podium, needing no command. Her Majesty folded her hands, looked straight into the camera, and waded into the Rubicon.

“Good evening. For the past two-hundred years, Western nations have spent blood and treasure beyond count on what they’ve called an 'experiment with democracy.' Tonight, my subjects have correctly decided that for them, the experiment has failed.”

She spotted Jon in the corner of her eye, arms folded, stewing, but silent and motionless. _Come on, do it._ Maybe part of her wanted him to. _No. Cross the fucking Rubicon._

“Government ‘of, by, and for the People’ yielded us the Three-Fifths Compromise, Manifest Destiny, and Lebensraum, all carried out by men elected to office on populist rhetoric. It gave us communist dictators who enslaved their people and called it a workers’ utopia. It gave us 'free-market' capitalism, in which Americans may purchase goods made by slaves in all but name, from any Wal Mart they desire.”

Another glance at Jon. He looked back, frozen in place, gears turning furiously. _Stay there, bitch._ The Rubicon was up to her neck, now, and she would not look back.

“It is far past time to dispense with the notion that mobs rule more justly than monarchs.” She looked at her watch. “Effective tomorrow, my government will pay for my subjects’ medical care, at prices I deem reasonable. Children will go to school year-round, to learn science, math, the history of my kingdom, and the world beyond. We will finish building the roads, schools, and hospitals we’ve started, and then build more. Prisoners on good behavior may work on these projects, for a fair wage, paid to their families. I shall fund these projects with oil revenues, my company’s weapons sales, and a tax on consumption, at higher rates for luxury goods than necessities. Most importantly, the mistreatment of women and girls in my kingdom stops _now_. Effective immediately, rapists will be put to death,” _unless you’re me, in which case you get a foot rub from the victim,_ “and any man who removes a woman’s clitoris will be brought to Baghdad, for me to personally remove _his_ 'clitoris,’ _then_  put to death.”

Tingly from all the talk of clit-cutting, Dany looked back to her watch. “In under a minute, I’ve done more for my people than the American government has done for its own in fifty years.” She shot Jon another look; more a glare than a glance, punctuated by a brief smirk. _Bitch, this isn’t even my whole night._ “These are not empty promises that will whither and die in a legislature. These are commands, and they _will_ be carried out.”

“To the democracies of the world, I promise to respect your sovereignty, as I strongly advise you respect mine. I won’t make unsolicited arguments on the matter, as the peace and prosperity under my reign will make my arguments for me. I promise to rule in the interests of my subjects, but I will not cling to the lie that their interests are the same as their will. To those of my subjects eager to start a better life by serving my will before their own, serve. To those who have not yet seen the light, see it. To those who would defy me, tremble. And to the rest of the world, _watch._ ”

 _This side of the Rubicon is much nicer,_ Dany thought, exhaling as the camera stopped recording. _Now_ _march on and conquer._

“That was sexy as shit,” Daario smirked.

 _You’re an idiot._ The captain was good with his dick, and devoid of morality, but lacked the geopolitical acumen to appreciate what a big fucking deal this was. Dany ignored the compliment. “Walk the dogs and put them to bed.” She grabbed Drape Girl by the arm, stripped her of her robe, and shoved her at Daario. “This one cleans the basement.” Closet Girl got a similar strip-and-shove. “This one, rape all you want.” She turned to Jon and tugged him toward her by a belt loop. “You, come upstairs so Daddy can tuck you in.”

Jon was too amazed at the existence of his own hands to express an opinion. _Tripping. Good._

Daario looked at her sideways as they parted. “I guess that’s goodnight…” _Jealous, are we?_

“Your Majesty?” Missandei met her at the bottom of the staircase. She took a knee and held her phone out, lowering her head in deference. “Cersei Lannister.”

Dany smirked. _‘Blah, blah, blah, Troubling Reports. Blah, blah, blah, Jon Snow’s Whereabouts. I love Klonopin and fucking my brother.’_ “I’ll talk to her.” She took the phone and headed upstairs, waving Missandei away, and motioning for Jon to follow. “Madam President.” She made a jerk-off motion with her hand.

“I suppose you want me to call you Your Majesty?” Cersei started, all petulant and shitty.

“You suppose correctly.” _Because it’s my right, you vodka-soaked tampon._ “Was that the United States formally recognizing my sovereignty?”

Cersei sighed; still petulant, still shitty.

“Yes, then.”

The president tried to wrest control back. “I'm calling to lodge our strong objections to--”

Dany finished for her. “How I just shat all over democracy? It pains me to hear you took fake offense to that.”

“That’s what passes for regal bearing, now?”

 _That’s what passes for a comeback?_ “Please, keep assuming that I share Elizabeth Windsor’s notions of how a queen should behave. In fact, please base your whole Middle East policy on that.”

Dany reached the top of the stairs and pointed toward her bedroom. Jon wandered in. Dany followed and shut the door behind her.

“Perhaps you can learn something from Queen Elizabeth,” Cersei babbled on, as Dany stripped. “She’s been around a long time, which is not always guaranteed for those in your position.”

 _I see what you did there._ Naked, Dany hopped into bed, sat against the headboard, and patted the mattress next to her. “Because people like reading about the scandals in her dumpster fire family,” Dany explained. “Perhaps _you_ can learn something from her.”

Jon stripped as well, followed her into bed, and put his head in her lap, docile as one of her cropped-eared babies. _Fuck yes. He’s mine._  Entheogens and prolonged sexual torture worked wonders on the psyche.

“Now, let's get this over with,” Dany continued, stroking Jon’s hair. “Yes, I will rule as I see fit. No, nobody can muster the political will to challenge me, especially not you. Yes, despite our differences, I’ll refrain from using my company’s considerable leverage over your military to rip out its backbone for fun. No, I won't resign as CEO, and if you don’t renew my contracts, I’ll close my factories in America, destroy the economy in a dozen swing states for generations, and reevaluate my position on backbone-ripping. And yes, I'm doing my best to find Jon Snow.” She smiled and tugged his earlobe. “But no, I won't let the CIA come spy on me under the guise of helping. There, I’m done. Are you done?”

“It's--”

“It's five o’clock somewhere. You're done.” Dany hung up.

For a few minutes, she just sat there, petting him, gazing down at him, watching his pupils dilate. “Do you miss this?” _I do._ At least in that moment.

“I don’t know...why couldn’t it just be this? What was wrong with this? I don’t understand why--”

 _I wish I knew._ “Don’t try to understand it. Just enjoy this. Let the feeling wash over you.”

By ‘the feeling,’ she meant the drugs. Even in the sweetest moments, the beast always won. _Feel that crown on your head. No one put it there but you. You know you’re more than a woman. Why do you insist on denying that, even on nights like tonight? Let him grow weak, show him your power, and never let him forget it._

Dany could feel herself stirring. “How are you feeling?” She asked, after a few minutes of idle petting.

“I'm feeling pretty good,” he smiled more than he realized. _He’s losing himself. Don’t deny how hot this is._

Dany smiled back, and stroked his cheek. “Are you?” She waved at him. “How are my fingers?”

Jon was very impressed with her fingers. “They look pretty good, too.”

That snuffed out the last flicker of hope that she might show him mercy. _He’s prey._  “How about the room? Pretty nice, huh?”

“The ceiling’s got these crazy triangles. I like that.” There were no triangles on the ceiling, crazy or otherwise.

“Yeah? How about me, what shape am I?”

“You’re a dragon.”

“I am.”  _Fuck yes, you are. Show him what a dragon really is._  She ignored that last part. She wasn’t ready for that. “Dragons are good, though, right? Dragons let good boys in this comfy bed…”

Jon nuzzled her. “I don’t even know what I’m talking about. What’s happening?”

 _Consume him._  “I’m showing you things as they are. I’m helping you see.”

“Your crown...I can hear it.”

 _Mmmm. Pull his ass down this rabbit hole, and rape him in the dirt._ “What does it sound like?”

His stare grew absolutely vacant. “Power. I like it.”

“Just listen to the power. _Feel_ it.” _He has no idea what power is. Teach him._ Dany scratched his stubble, trying not to think about ’showing’ or ’teaching’ him what the monster wanted her to.  _Not that. Not yet._

“How does that--”

“Ssh.” She put a finger over his lips, and waved one from her other hand in front of his eyes. Jon seemed to think her finger was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. “I said, listen to it, babe. And when I say something, you do it, remember? Shut your mouth and listen, can you do that for me?” _Squeeze the sponge._

Jon marveled at the concept of shutting one’s mouth. The sound of the words. The amazing invention that was the human jaw, and how brilliant it was that it allowed him to do such a thing.

Dany reached over and gently ran two fingertips up the shaft of his cock. It turned over, and began to grow. “That’s my good boy. Your problem is you keep trying to resist me. Really, it makes much more sense to obey. That’s what nature’s all about, don’t you see it?” _Twist._

Jon nodded. “I see it…” _Of course you do._

She let him lay there for another ten minutes or so, and played lazily with his cock. _This is your weakness, and my strength._ Every now and then, his face would change. Awe, fear, confusion, and deep, aimless thought. It made her wonder what he was seeing, and hearing, and learning. What truths had become clear as day, now that he was free to understand them.

 _‘Do it. You have to.’_ Dany nodded to her beast in silent agreement. _‘Because you need him for later, and because he’s here, now, and he’s him, and you’re you.’_ She smiled down and wrapped her hand softly around his cock. “Still see the dragon, my love?”

“No,” he replied, peacefully. “You’re, like, a--I can’t describe it.”

“You’re floating in me. I’m all around you. I’m inside you. And you know what’s crazy? I always have been.” _Crush._

“Yeah, it’s like--”

“I’m a dragon, I’m a woman, I’m this room, I’m your body. I’m the world. I’m space. I’m time. I’m that thing in between, that you’ve just noticed now.” _Squeeze._

“You’re different colors, coming from everywhere.”

“Because I am everywhere. I’m every color, and the light that lets you see them. Is it starting to make sense? I’m your own thoughts. We’re one thing. Everything is one thing. It’s all me.” _Twist._

So many wheels were turning in Jon’s mind. Wheels he never knew existed. “You’re everything.”

 _You get it, now._ “Mhm.” Her tone was sweet, but her face was serious. “This is what God is. It’s me.” _Crush._

“Whoa, shit…”

“I want to tell you a secret.”

“I already know it,” Jon answered. “I just don’t know what it is.”

 _Sure._ “Creation and destruction are the same thing,” Dany revealed. “Freedom and slavery; everything and nothing. It’s all the same. I can prove it, too.” She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “Let me destroy you. Until you’re not you anymore. Until you’re not even a person. Until you’re nothing.” Her other hand was pumping away at his cock. “But then I’ll bring you back. Give you life again. Enslave you. You’ll be part of me. Part of everything. We’ll be one thing. One being. More than bodies. I’ll control everything. You’ll control nothing. It will be that way forever, and for the first time in your life, you’ll feel _right._ ”

Jon was gorgeous when he was all weak and squirmy. “That’s what I need to do.”

Dany chuckled. “More than you know, little slave.” She took her hand off his cock. “Stay there.”

Too transfixed on whatever he thought he saw in the ceiling, Jon stayed put, as Dany slid around and mounted him.

“Feel this?” She rubbed the head of his cock against her wetness. “I bet you feel it everywhere.”

Jon nodded. Dany smiled down at him, remembering the man he'd been when he got off the plane in Baghdad. _Look how far you’ve come._ She could never be alone with that man, not after she showed him what she was. Raping that man required guards, and restraints, and death threats. That man would have fought, and bitched, and called her a monster, like she didn’t know that already. He would have killed her if he’d had the chance, and almost did. This man was different. He wasn’t himself, as the concept of ‘self’ no longer made sense to him. Even at his most willful, this man always buckled. He needed her to tell him where he was, how he got there, and why he existed to begin with. He needed the torture. He needed the rape, so much that she wondered if it was even rape anymore. _No, it’s definitely s_ _till rape._ But she liked how thoroughly she’d blurred the lines.

“Tell me where you feel it, babe,” she whispered. _Quickly._ She could feel her heart beat faster.

“All the way out in my fingers,” Jon answered. “And inside me. Everywhere. My face. And---mmm.” He closed his eyes lost himself as she engulfed him.

Dany gasped softly, tossed her hair back, and squeezed her breasts as she built a slow, steady pace. _Yes. Just like that._ She pinched her nipples and twisted, as enamored with her own body as much as she’d ever been with another. _I’m fucking perfect._ Dany imagined that thousands of years from now, women would still measure themselves up against her beauty, like the world still measured time from the birth of Jesus Christ. Every difference would be a flaw, like every second took the world farther away from its savior.

“Come here,” she commanded the slave beneath her. Jon moved to sit up, but she pressed him back down with two fingers to his chest. “No, no. _Here._ ” She leaned forward and flattened her palm on his chest, holding his face in her other hand. “In my eyes. In my pussy. Do you feel it? Do you feel closer to God?”

“Uh huh,” Jon nodded.

Dany smiled. “Good. Come closer.” The CIA had [ experimented ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_MKUltra) with LSD in the 50s as a brainwashing method. It worked on some, but not on others, and they decided it was too unpredictable to use in the field. _The CIA didn't have hips like mine. Or eyes like mine. Or a pussy like mine._ If they did, they’d have ruled the world.

“I think I see everything,” Jon blurted out. “But it’s just a big cloud. What is it?”

She leaned down, pinned his wrists above his head, and spoke into his ear; softly, but louder than a whisper. “It’s the voice of God. The presence of God. Do you see how everything in my presence is mine? Feels so good to finally be in God’s presence, doesn’t it?” Her own words made her grind faster.

“It’s like my body just dissolved into space, you know?”

Dany smiled. “I know, sweetie. I said I’d destroy you, remember? Crush you into nothing?”

“Mhm,” Jon smiled, eyes closed. “So warm.”

“Because you're back in the womb,” Dany explained. “You're not you any more. I'm remaking you. I'm floating all around you. I'm your creator. Your God. The only God. The one who gives you life, and takes it away, and gives it back. Do you understand me?”

“I’m like--a presence.”

“Not even a presence,” Dany corrected him, sweetly. “A concept. That’s _my_ presence you feel. You’re nothing until God’s presence gives you live. Would you like me to give you life again? Or would you like to stay a concept?”

“A presence,” Jon’s eyes focused on something distant. “I wanna be a presence. Please, God, make me a presence.”

“Not yet, little slave.” Dany kept her grinding in check, and voice soft and soothing, so the word ‘slave’ would feel like a warm bath to slip into. “I want to teach you something. You remember what pain is? Remember, when you had a body, I liked to hurt you?”

“Yeah,” Jon replied, “but that’s just like, a mechanism, right? Some fuckin’ mechanism that somebody put in my body to hide the truth. It’s just a bullshit mechanism, you know?”

 _Oh, this is going to be fun._ She smacked him hard, putting her divine shoulder into it. “That’s right, you’re learning so much today, aren’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Dany hit him just as hard on the other cheek. “Your body was the problem. Not me.” She hit him again. “Your mind believed in the concept of pain, so your body did, too. Let me free you from that.” And again, planting her hand on his throat when she finished, firmly enough to keep him in his place, but gently enough that he could still breathe and speak. “Enslave yourself to God, and she’ll free you. You'll see the truth.”

Jon writhed around beneath her. “You’re God, and I’m yours, please, I’m yours….”

That was quite possibly the sexiest thing Dany had ever heard. She rode him harder, abandoning restraint, because how could she not? She kissed him; deep, long, and sincerely, like she hadn’t done since they left America. _Maybe ever,_ she realized. She broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, losing herself in how good it felt to rape this man, too weak to refuse her. He lay there, helpless in the world she’d created in his broken little mind. _Your army just crossed the Rubicon with you. Now burn this world to the fucking ground until you get what’s yours._

Dany pulled back a bit and took in that body of his, toned, bruised, and perfect. Every move he made was a plea for her to fuck him until he forgot everything he knew; an offering to his higher power, hoping it would please her. Hoping she’d build a whole new world for him; a world she alone ruled, where pain at her hands was a blessing. Where her caprice was the wind itself, and his only purpose was to twist in it.

“ _FUCK yes!_ ” Dany screamed, one hand on her clit before she knew it. “ _MINE_ _!_ ” She could sense her face flush, and sweat dripping from her brow, but she was so high on cock and power that she felt just as far away from her body as Jon was from his; floating in some other, perfect world, where she ruled everything with an iron fist. For a second, she worried the insanity would never recede. _You say that like it's a bad thing. Why? Sane people don’t do what you’ll do._ She scratched her nails down his chest as hard as she could. “Is this pain? Hm? Is there pain in the presence of God?”

Jon shook his head. “No, it feels so good when you do it. No pain in your presence…” He laughed to himself, as if he were so stupid for not getting it until now.

“Pain _is_ the presence of God.” She twisted his nipples. “What this?!”

Jon threw his head back. “The presence of God!”

“Feels so good to be in my presence, doesn’t it?” She snuck in another tease of her clit.

“So fucking good.”

She smacked him, with one hand, then the other, in rapid succession. “What’s this?!”

“The presence of God!” There was a certainty to his voice that pleased Dany immensely.

“And what are you?!”

“A concept!”

“That’s right, just a concept, until God gives you life. Do you want me to give you life?”

“Yes,” Jon panted. “Please, give me life.”

Something stopped her. That thing she tried to block out earlier. She thought about finishing him, declaring that she’d given him life, and calling it a night. He’d gotten a nice thorough mindfuck already, why overcomplicate things? _Because if you stop now, he’s just some guy on an acid trip. He’s not reborn until he sees._ That truth--her truth--made her nervous. She hadn’t shared it since childhood, even when it may have been useful. It was simply too fucked up. Nobody in a normal state of mind would think it was real.

“You’re not ready yet.” She hopped off of him, and reached for her nightstand. “You need to see one more thing.”

It was the root of her conviction that she was exempt from common notions of what was right, or prudent, or possible. But she'd always preferred to keep it to herself. Brilliance, ruthlessness, and sheer force of will had gotten her where she was; not this. She hesitated again. _Fine, if you won’t do it to break him, do it for his love. He can’t love you if you hide this from him._

Dany pulled a tissue from a box on her nightstand and a butane torch from the drawer, and climbed back on top of him. Jon saw the torch and gave her a perplexed look. _Well, now it’s just weird. So either do it, or make him some crème brûlée. And you don’t know how to make crème brûlée._ The look Jon gave her had crushed her more than she expected, and killed the mood. To build up her courage, she pulled herself together and took him inside again, and it all reawakened the instant she felt him filling her.

 _What the fuck are you so afraid of? Have you forgotten who you are? Show this bitch why he serves you._ “Maybe you think this is a game to me,” Dany stared down at him. _That’s it. More. Fucking show him._ “Maybe you think I’m some crazy woman.” She smacked him. “Don't speak, just watch. And when I’m done, I’ll entertain your pleas for forgiveness.” _Much better._

With Jon’s eyes locked on her, Dany lit the torch underneath the tissue, turning it to ash almost instantly. Jon winced at the flame and the falling embers, but Dany just waved them away. She glared again, to refocus his attention, then put her palm over the flame, and held it there. She watched his face, as he went from finding this amusing, to strange, to a bit creepy, to inexplicable. She could see him torturing himself to explain how she stayed so calm. How she showed no sign of injury and seemed not to feel any pain. _Because I don’t._

Acid trip notwithstanding, Jon knew that what he was witnessing was not normal. He looked up at her, but stayed silent, as commanded. She looked at her arm, and ran the torch slowly up and down. Nothing.

She was pretty sure she wasn't immortal, and she was in no rush to find out for sure. She'd had the flu, and Montezuma's Revenge, and a broken ankle, and she was allergic to bee stings; all of which seemed to indicate that sooner or later, something would kill her. But all fire ever did was make her sweat a bit.

Jon forgot her command. “How do you--”

“Ssh.” Dany put a finger over his lips. “I said, just watch. You obey me, remember?” She nodded, to feed him the right answer, then ran the torch across her chest and down between her breasts to her stomach. _Let this speak for itself._

It started when she was a toddler, sitting on the kitchen counter as her nanny started breakfast. The phone rang in the other room, and she ran to answer it, leaving an open flame on the stove. Dany was mesmerized. It had color, but she couldn't pick it up, or hold it. It hardly moved or made any noise, but it could make bacon pop and sizzle and turn to yucky black dust. And once it was dust, it would never turn back to bacon.

She had to touch it. _‘This is what you're looking for,’_ it seemed to call out. She put her tiny hand right over the burner and tried to grab the flame, or stir it around, or push it back into the jets. The nanny screamed bloody murder, yanked Dany's hand away, and stared blankly at her perfectly intact palm, then back at the flame, then back at her palm. Dany cried, only because the nanny had taken her toy away.

For lack of a better idea, her nanny scolded her that fire was dangerous. But the lesson Dany learned was not to avoid fire, but merely to avoid getting caught. All through her childhood, she would sneak into the kitchen and play with the open flame. As she got older, and realized that most people couldn't do that, she became obsessed. She even got away with it in the White House, where the residence section had a regular kitchen, designed to make the First Family feel at least somewhat normal. But her father had never been normal, and had quite possibly never set foot in his own kitchen, so she pretty much had the stove to herself.

She quickly learned that showing it off to boys made them eager to do her bidding, especially when she kissed them afterwards. The first time she touched herself was after she lit a match, set the whole rest of the book on fire in her hand, and extinguished it by clenching her fist. Even now, she would still run the torch over her body with one hand as she worked her clit with the other; hence its place in the nightstand to begin with.

But when her father was forced from the White House, everything that had once made her proud ashamed her. She had no friends back in Connecticut, and thirteen-year-old girls were a tough crowd for the daughter of the world’s most famous living monster. ‘The fire thing,’ as she called it, was one more oddity; one more barrier to the ‘normal childhood’ everyone said was so important she have.

Shame notwithstanding, the older she got, the greater the rush it became. She could entertain herself for hours holding her hand on the stove, then under the faucet, watching the water boil away on contact. She did it whenever she was angry, or sad, or nervous, or horny. It made her feel powerful, and special, and it numbed her to the sting of being ostracized for her name. It gave her the courage to stop fantasizing and commit her first rape.

But ironically, as she became more convinced in her late teens that conquest was both her destiny and birthright, she swore she would achieve it on her own merits, without resorting to the fire thing. _‘You’re a queen, not a magician,’_ she’d told herself. And if she held a press conference in which she stood in a giant fire and demanded a crown, people would mock her as her father’s daughter, with a bigger special effects budget and more grandiose delusions. _I’m not my fucking father._ She fantasized sometimes about rounding up everyone who’d ever compared her to her father, even favorably, and using them as the kindling when she finally did unveil herself; of finding those girls who ostracized her when she was thirteen and raping them on a massive bonfire, getting off to the sound of their shrieks as they melted and turned to ash. _Mmmm._

Jon began to squirm, knocking Dany out of her daydream. The flame was just below her bellybutton. _Oops._ She held it there; her grin turning to pure, unadulterated evil.

“Give me a reason to stop.” _Squeeze._ Her hips began to roll again, as the fear on his face unleashed the worst in her. Jon kept trying to look away, but couldn’t. He kept trying to stop his cock from thrusting itself into what should have been a furnace, but couldn’t. He kept trying to put together the puzzle of how any of this was happening, but even in his altered state, with his mind bouncing between dimensions, he couldn’t. _Twist._ “How many times have I told you, you don’t understand who I am, and what I’m capable of?” She thrust her hips down on him, hard. “ _Hm?!_ Answer me!”

“I don’t know.’ He kept squirming. _Idiot._ “Lots of times, hundreds, I don’t know, please don’t kill me, not like this, _PLEASE!!_ ”

“I think I want to, though.” Dany could feel herself getting close. She pressed the nozzle of the torch against her abdomen, letting the flame spread out over her skin. “I haven’t heard your plea for forgiveness, yet. Only for your life. If you think your life’s more important than my forgiveness, _fuck_ your life.”  _Crush._

“Please forgive me, I get it, now! I get it! I’m sorry for everything. Everything I’ve ever done to offend you. Please forgive me!”

Dany chuckled to herself. _Sad, but close enough._ “Have I finished destroying you? Do you understand what it means to be in my presence? Do you see the _truth,_  now?”  _Release._

“Yes, I see! I see!”

“You’d better. You can’t be reborn unless you see. Are you ready to be reborn, now?”  _Squeeze._

Jon hesitated. “Are you gonna burn me?!”

 _Mmm._ “Either that, or I’ll make you come harder than every other time in your life put together. You won’t know which it is until it happens. So?! Shall I reignite the life in you?!”  _Twist._

“Yes! Please!”

Dany extinguished the torch, tossed it aimlessly aside, and pinned her prey to the mattress. Forehead pressed against his, she sank her teeth into his lower lip and held it there, tugging, like a dog tearing meat off a bone. _Crush._  Jon screamed, which made her clit pulse, and her tongue even thirstier for blood. She sucked that fucking lip until she got what she came for, rolling her tongue around in her mouth, letting it swim in that hot, thick saltiness, swallowing it in a nice, big gulp.  _Release._

Tears were welling in Jon’s eyes, which set Dany’s hand into fast, methodical rubbing.

“Who’s your Daddy? Who’s your Queen? Who’s your only God?!” _Squeeze._

“You are!” A fleck of blood flew from Jon’s mouth and landed on Dany’s chin. She smiled. “You’re God! You’re everything!”

“Then come closer!” She demanded, pounding down on his cock, hard and relentless, feeling herself tighten around it. “Give yourself to God! Enslave yourself, and learn freedom! Give me your life, and I'll give it a purpose! _Give it to me!!_ ” _Twist_.

Her scream as she hit her peak was more of long, primal shout. A battle cry. The sound men made when all they wanted was to shut off their thoughts and hurl all their strength at the poor, doomed fucker in front of them. She leaned down and kissed him hard, taking in the smell of sweat and sex and fear, then spat in his face, because fuck it, she wanted to. _Crush._

He groaned as his cock emptied itself into her, just as she crested. _More, more, more._ And she got what she wanted. _Release._

She let the boy calm down for a minute, and caught her breath. _He knows you, now. He really knows you._ It was strange, actually. She felt naked without that one last trick up her sleeve.  _Be careful with him from now on._

When his breathing slowed down, Dany rolled over, smiled sweetly, and traced her finger lazily over Jon’s chest. “How are you feeling, babe?” Threats of excruciating death during sex had been known to cause bad trips.

“...I just saw some crazy shit.”

“Oh yeah? What did you learn?”

“You’re God. You killed me, but you brought me back. And I think you bit me. Something bit me.”

She laughed and kissed his lower lip. “A little bit. Did you learn anything about the universe?” _Squeeze._

Jon nodded. “I learned a bunch of crazy shit. Like, _crazy_ shit.”

Dany rested her head on his chest and nuzzled him. _Twist._  “The universe is all one thing. You learned that, remember? There’s no pain in my presence. Pain _is_ my presence. And my presence gives you life. You’ll never escape me.” _Crush._

“Never.” He sighed, processing it all. “Crazy, but true.” He put his arm around her, holding her close.  _Like a normal person, again._ “Never.”

“Good. Then follow me somewhere else. We’ll go together. In your body. Mine will stay here, but really it’s both of us, right?”

Jon paused, as if he just remembered that physical space was a thing. “Where are we going?"

“Iowa, silly.” Dany smiled up at him. “You’ve got a caucus to win.” _Release._


	5. Daario I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daenerys Targaryen subtly trolls Emilia Clarke.

Daario looked away from the TV, watching from the couch as Dany inspected her freshly painted toes from the recliner. She looked cute; almost like a normal person, in nothing but panties and a simple white tank top, though the [ panties ](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/gayle-brief-black-and-gold) cost more than Daario had spent on underwear in his entire life.

Her Majesty raised an eyebrow at Closet Girl, kneeling before her in the pink robe that marked her as chattel. “You think that’s good enough?” It looked fine to Daario, but the question itself allowed for only one answer.

Closet Girl looked up, pitifully. “No, Daddy,” answered slave whose name had once been Jhiqui.

Dany slapped her on the cheek with the top of her foot, smearing nail polish all over her cheek. “Start again.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Closet Girl found the nail polish remover, cleaned Dany's foot but not her own face, and started again. _Always ‘thank you.’ Never ‘yes.’_ ‘Yes’ was merely a promise to comply. Anyone could do that. _‘I’m the Queen, not the terms and conditions of the iTunes store. Good girls thank me for the chance justify their existence.’_ Dany was full of little nuggets like that.

The Queen nibbled a slice of baguette from a side table, sipped some merlot, and turned to Daario on the couch. “Time?”

He looked at his phone. “Three minutes, thirty-eight seconds.”

Inches to Her Majesty's left was Drape Girl, naked on the floor, strapped to her Sybian. Not even four minutes, and the slut was already panting in agony. Holding her legs tightly in place were leather straps fixed to hooks that had been flush-mounted into the cold marble floor in Dany’s residence in the Royal Palace; formerly the Republican Palace, when Iraq was still a Republic. A tight leash went from the back of her pronged metal collar to a spreader bar between her ankles, so the prongs would dig into her neck when she inevitably slumped forward in exhaustion. More leather straps bound her arms behind her back, and a chain dangled between the clamps on her nipples, which served no purpose but pain.

Dany sighed, but kept her eyes on the TV. “Faster.” A week ago, Drape Girl had lasted over seven minutes on the Sybian without crying, breaking her previous record of five. Thereafter, anything shorter was simply unacceptable.

Dany was closer, and could easily have reached the remote herself, but was clearly in no mood to have that pointed out. The Sybian’s ‘remote’ looked like one for a toy car, but attached to the machine by a woefully short cord. _The woman got Boeing to build her a 787 with a jacuzzi in it, but she can't get the Sybian people to make a wireless remote._ Daario still pitied the poor customer service lady who had taken that call.

He lumbered over, picked up the controller, and turned up the vibration. As he made his way back to the couch, Dany slid a finger under Drape Girl’s pronged metal collar, and tugged. “Do you think _anything_ good will happen if you cry this early?” She hissed into the slave's ear. “ _SUCK IT UP!!_ " She left the slave to her suffering, and turned back to the TV.

MSNBC was broadcasting live from Des Moines, which was decidedly unsexy, but Daario knew she wouldn’t let him change it. The anchors sounded like talking _Sesame Street_ dolls who only knew a handful of phrases, all of which involved the words ‘game-changer’ and ‘Jon Snow.’ Daario could have done without the latter.

He hadn't known the man, really; their interactions had consisted mainly of Daario shoving him in the general direction of his next round of torture. He seemed like an alright guy, but toward the end of his time as her guest, something about him had begun to make Daario nervous.

Daario wanted to settle down with Daenerys like a mouse wanted to settle down with a boa constrictor, though he’d always taken comfort from a certainty that at the end of the day, she’d come back to him. But the way she looked at Jon, and spoke about him, made Daario much less certain. Whatever this woman had planned for the world, it involved Jon Snow, and her plan for the world trumped her lust for Daario.

Jon had been back in the States for two months, after being driven straight from Dany’s basement to a remote village in Iraq’s western desert, thrown in a hole for a few days to get him nice and dirty, then ‘rescued’ from a ‘rebel militia’ in a ‘daring raid’ orchestrated by the woman who’d thrown him in the hole to begin with. Daario found it baffling that Jon didn’t spill the beans on Dany as soon as he got home; almost as baffling as Dany’s utter lack of concern that he would.

The concocted story made Jon an instant hero back home, and led to a slew of polls that gave him a viable path to the White House despite having been completely off the grid while Margaery Tyrell, the governor of California and Democratic frontrunner, built a massive campaign in the early primary states. _Self-interested and non-committal. Would bang._

Margery had a reputation for never giving a straight answer on even the most innocuous questions, and the conventional wisdom was that she’d be vulnerable against someone with ‘real principles.’

It was the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and Jon was in Iowa, ostensibly to visit a wind farm or some bullshit in his capacity as a senator from neighboring Minnesota. But senators with charming smiles never just ‘went’ to Iowa, especially with the caucuses just a few weeks away, and the speculation was intensifying.

Dany had accompanied her soldiers on their fake rescue mission, and personally greeted Jon when they pulled him onto the helicopter, making her the subject of much fawning and fascination in the American press. She was young and beautiful, but tough as nails, and willing to risk her life to protect those she cared about. The scion of a disgraced family, redeeming her name by healing a nation devastated by the hubris of another American dynasty. A woman of unfathomable wealth and power, who quoted Beyoncé lyrics and spoke at length about the Yankees’ bullpen. Exactly the tyrant the Founding Fathers warned of, who’d nonetheless made education and health care more accessible in Iraq than most of America. Cersei Lannister looked like a second-rate hack in comparison, which Dany planned to leverage during an intense media blitz on her upcoming trip to New York, to address the UN General Assembly.

She watched with a shit-eating grin as the anchors went on about her favorite rape puppet, until Drape Girl buckled and broke into a pathetic sob.

“Time!”

“Six fifty-two,” Daario replied.

Daenerys reached over, pulled the slave upright by her hair. “Are you too stupid for one simple command?” She reached for the controller herself this time, unbound the girl’s arms, and shoved it into her hands. “I will not trouble myself on account of _your_ weakness. Turn it up yourself.” Dany gulped the last bit of wine from her glass, broke it over Drape Girl’s head, and pressed the jagged stem against her throat.

Tears streaming down her face, Drape Girl turned the dial as far up as it could go. She dropped the controller and leaned forward, heaving and gasping, struggling to breathe through her own sobs; her stomach clenched too tight to straighten her back.

Dany grabbed her slave’s wrist, and placed the broken stem into Drape Girl’s own hand, positioning it exactly how Dany had held it. She tapped the base of the stem to show how easy it would be to jam it into her throat. “Hold it there. I won’t waste another second correcting you.” She opened the side table drawer, retrieved a ball gag, and tossed it aimlessly in Daario’s general direction. “It's whining too much. Fix it.”

As soon Daario buckled the gag, the anchors switched to the second biggest story of the day, the abrupt resignation of Tyrion Lannister from his ambassadorship. The news had broken the evening prior, and while she never said it outright, this was obviously Dany’s doing.

“Like I said in my statement,” Tyrion explained to the anchor, joining them live from Baghdad. “I love my sister, but I simply can’t support her Iraq policy. We’ve spent years trying to make this country into something it’s not, and it hasn’t worked. They’ve got a leader who’s managed to bring them stability. It’s time to leave them be.”

“Are you saying you approve of Daenerys Targaryen’s methods?” The question made Dany smiled crookedly.

“I’m saying we’ve wasted too much time and effort antagonizing a foreign leader who has shown us no ill will; whose regime is no worse than countless other allies. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”

“Back up, Ambassador. No ill will?!” The anchor repeated. “She thinks democracy is obsolete!”

“She’s also said she wouldn’t undermine us, and she hasn’t.”

“Don’t you think it’s a threat to national security for a foreign head of state who openly hates democracy to take billions of taxpayer dollars in defense contracts? Shouldn’t we _do_ something about that?” _Probably, but you won’t._

“The bigger threat,” Tyrion responded, “is needlessly feuding with an important partner in the region.”

“Will you still support the Republican nominee in November?”

“We don’t even know who that is, yet.” It would probably be Randyll Tarly, a sentient prostate who’d once predicted that the Iraq War would pay for itself in six months.

“Was that a dodge?”

“Dodgeball was the only sport I was good at in high school,” Tyrion smiled. “I was a small target.”

Dany smiled at Daario, as the interview wrapped. “He’ll be here soon.” She shoved Closet Girl away with a foot to the face. “Then he’s got a plane to catch.” She stood, turned around, knelt on the chair with her ass out, and looked back at her slave. “You're shit at pedicures. Lick.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Closet Girl crawled forward, carefully pulled down the royal panties, spread the royal cheeks apart, and obeyed. Dany closed her eyes, moaned softly, snapped her fingers at Daario, and pointed wordlessly at Drape Girl.

The girl once called Irri hung her head, prongs in her throat notwithstanding, and let out a gag-muffled wail. Daario felt himself harden. He walked over once more, removed her gag, grabbed the top of her head, and pushed his cock between her soft, quivering lips. _I should feel bad about this,_ he knew. But he didn’t. Women had always been expendable to him, and his time with Daenerys had numbed him to her victims’ suffering. _If I don’t do it, someone else will._ And Daario dreaded what would happen if she no longer found him useful.

He stood close, to pull her head all the way onto his cock, and slid himself down her throat in earnest, wasting no time starting slow. Out of fear, or instinct, or because she'd actually come to enjoy a good rape to the throat, Drape Girl put her soft little hands on Daario’s ass and pulled him in deeper. _She’s twisted you beyond hope, hasn’t she?_ He gripped her hair tighter and fucked away, punishing her for being such a broken little cunt. Her cries and the Sybian made her whole body vibrate, which only made it better. Daario brushed his thumb against her face, so he could feel the tears. It made him throb.

“Slobber all over it.” Dany commanded Drape Girl, stifling her moans to get the words out. “Thick, so he can fuck my ass with it.” _And my guidance counselor said I'd never get a good job._ Dany had wanted it in the ass a lot, lately. Daario had no idea why, but was not about to look a gift horse in the sphincter.

Drape girl gagged, and coughed, and winced. _More._ His thrusts grew slower, but deeper, as she coated his cock in the fruits of her misery.

Dany flashed him a jealous look. _You want the pounding all for yourself._ For all her talk about how her servants should anticipate what she wants, and do it before she has to ask, Dany had never punished Daario for making her wait to be fucked. _She likes having to wait. She likes being desperate for it._ Dany would never admit it, of course, and she’d be furious at the mere suggestion. But Daario could tell by the way she’d writhe, and the look in her eyes, that beneath it all, she loved begging.

“Come here,” Dany’s breaths were quick and shallow “Fuck me.”

Daario left Drape Girl alone to finish her suffering on the Sybian, and yanked closet girl back by the hair, away from his master’s squirmy little ass. The slave scurried away on her hands and knees as Dany lowered herself and stuck her ass out further. _Look at yourself. Do you honestly believe you’re not a filthy little slut at heart?_

“I said, _fuck me!_ "

 _Say ‘please,’ like a good girl._ He almost said it out loud, but he wanted her too badly to start a battle of wills. He lined himself up, put a hand on the small of her back, and guided her onto him, nice and slow.

Dany grunted. “ _Fuck…_ ” She gripped the back of the chair with one hand, and slid the other down to her clit. Another grunt, and she pushed herself backward, bringing him in deeper.

 _Oh, you want more?_ Daario slapped her ass with both hands, took in that beautiful sound, and pulled her closer. _If asses alone could conquer the world, she’d have done it already._ It was tight, and pert, but fleshy enough that he could spend hours just smacking and squeezing and gripping it.

“Yes,” she panted. “More.” _Called it. You don't hide your inner whore as well as you think._ All women had one, in Daario's experience. Even the crazy ones. Especially the crazy ones.

Dany had elaborate theories about why that was. Something about the invention of agriculture, which led to the concept of private property, which made men scared to spend resources on someone else’s kid, so they made a whole system social norms designed to shame women for their sexual agency. The shame conditioned women to believe that if a man really cared about her, he’d make her feel ashamed of herself for her natural urge to fuck, hence why so many women loved being treated like sluts. Daario had always thought it was because rough sex simply felt better, but that worked, too. _Thank God for agriculture._

Not about to refuse his whore of a Queen, Daario pulled Dany back by the hair and gave her more. And the more he gave, the more she demanded. Daario had a fair amount to give; more than most men, and more than many women could accommodate in such a tight space. But Dany wanted all of it, whether she was ready for it or not. _That’s a pattern with her._ As it went on, her moans went from deep grunts to soft, high-pitched cries. _She sounds like a helpless little girl,_ Daario realized, as Dany’s screams grew ever harder to distinguish from Drape Girl’s, still the Sybian as it shredded her from the inside.

“You love that, don’t you?” Daario teased.

“Yes!” _There’s that desperation._ “Yes! Gimme!”

“Mmmm.” He smacked her ass again. “Ask me nicely.”

“No!”

 _That’s slut speak for ‘hit me harder.’_ So he did. “Fuck that, I said beg for it!” _Come on, beg for it. Please?_ He wanted to hear her beg, for once. And not just because women were sexy when they begged. He was tired of carrying around that tiny kernel of insecurity; that fear, that maybe he wasn’t so indispensable to her.

Without words, or warning, Dany threw herself back against him; her face red, mouth agape, and her screams growing louder. She thrust back again, almost like a punishment. _She’s going to cum._ He could feel her ass clenching tight around his cock, swallowing it, as that intangible force that made her who she was swallowed the rest of him, inside and out, until she was the only thing left in the world. She screamed, piercingly loud, as her hand frantically worked her clit. The pulsing of her body as she went over the falls made him weak in the knees, and before he realized it, he was pounding furiously, desperately trying to keep up.

“And I said _give it to me!!_ ” She growled, just as she passed her peak. _She always wins,_ he conceded.

So he gave it to her. Because she claimed it. And demanded it. And because that was simply how the world worked with her. Burst, after burst, after burst, emptying himself as deep inside as he could, until there was no more to give, and he slowed down, winded and beaten.

Dany took a minute and composed herself. She smiled back at him, like she’d just won a friendly round of Scrabble, as the whore inside her faded away. Her face changed, her stare growing colder by the second, then stood, pulled her panties up, and snapped her fingers. “Eyes on me.”

The whole room stopped dead in its tracks and turned to her; even Drape Girl, who’d clenched her eyes shut in a futile attempt to imagine herself anywhere else. Dany had never trained them to do that. She’d planted the reflex in their minds. She ignored the other two and pointed to Closet Girl, kneeling patiently in the corner.

“Turn off the Sybian, and untie its legs.” _Not ‘her’ legs. ‘Its’ legs._ That bitch loved syntax. _Words matter to her. There’s a reason she doesn’t say ‘please.’_

“Thank you, Daddy.” Closet girl nodded and crawled toward her sister slave.

“This one's depressing me with its _incessant_ crying,” Dany announced, as she walked over to Drape Girl, stopping at the side table along the way, to pick up an empty wine bottle and a serrated knife she’d used to slice her baguette. “And it’s about to overheat the motor. That thing is twelve hundred dollars. Rape toys like this one aren’t worth the sum of their parts.”

Daario slumped in the recliner and zipped his fly; the rest of his body turned to dead weight. Closet Girl obeyed her Daddy, avoiding eye contact with her, and with Drape Girl, as they were forbidden to look each other in the eye, lest they form a bond. Drape Girl fell sideways off the Sybian, and curled into the fetal position on the floor, her sobs weaker and quieter, not from relief, but from pure numbness and exhaustion.

Dany snapped her fingers again, and pointed to the floor in front of her feet. Drape Girl somehow managed to pull herself up onto all fours, nod weakly in obedience, and crawl toward her master on shaking limbs. Wincing and groaning when she reached her spot, she lowered her head and kissed the floor between Dany’s feet. With a bored roll of her eyes, Dany moved behind her, pulled her head back, and dragged the knife lightly against her throat.

“How many times did you come?” She spat down into the girl’s face. “And when did you start hating it? I _love_ knowing how badly you hate it.”

The girl was too afraid, and sobbing too hard, to form an answer.

Her Majesty was gravely displeased. “Did that rubber cock fuck your vocal cords away?” She held the knife in place and pressed harder. “Shall we open you up and see for ourselves?”

“Please, please, please, please, please, please, please,” was all Irri could say, in a high-pitched whisper, followed by something in Arabic that Daario couldn’t make out.

Dany scoffed. “You have the gall to beg for mercy, after _that_ pitiful display?! _Fuck you._ I have no mercy for weak little cunts like you.” She dragged the blade again, just hard enough to draw blood from one of the few spots she could cut without killing her. _She could carve a man up like a butcher, if she wanted._

And that was when the poor girl pissed herself. Daario assumed was the point of the exercise.

Dany chuckled to herself, and dragged the girl back a few feet. She smashed the bottle on the floor, right in the middle of the piss puddle, and kicked Drape Girl between the shoulder blades. The slave’s face landed precisely where Her Majesty wanted it.

“Did you even _count_ your orgasms?!” Dany shouted, slamming her heel down on Drape Girl’s temple and dragging her face around in her own filth. “Can you even count at all?!” She crouched, to get nice and intimate, grabbed Drape Girl’s hair, and dragged her head back and forth in the puddle, like a mop. “Answer me, or you’ll swallow every bit of this mess you made. And I’ll get on the Sybian myself. And watch. And laugh. And come so hard they’ll have to mop the floor when you finally bleed out.”

“No, no, no…” She turned her head to hide her eyes from Dany, preferring to look at the mess of broken glass and her own piss that might be her last meal.

But Dany was impossible to escape. “No, _what?!_ "

Drape Girl curled into the fetal position on the floor, crying too hard to speak, and way too hard to play Her Majesty’s game.

Dany sighed. “Fuck it, you’re not worth the effort. Wallow in your filth, it’s all you’re good for.” She stood and made her way over to Closet Girl, who was back in the corner. The slave prostrated herself at the sound of Dany’s footsteps. “Get up, and help me dress.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She rose, just a bit too slow.

Dany slapped her. “I’d warn you to be quicker lest you end up like her, but you’ll end up like her later, anyway.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

She turned only briefly back to Daario. “Meet Tyrion at the gate, and bring him to me in the Throne Room.” With that, she stuck a finger under Closet Girl’s collar, and led her upstairs to get dressed. _No goodbye?_ Usually he at least got a smile. _She’s in one of her moods, that’s all. She’ll calm down._ He hoped.

Daario put on his dress uniform, and waited for the former ambassador at an ornate guardhouse, across the road from the west bank of the Tigris. The guards waved Tyrion’s car through the open gate in the gold-tipped wrought iron fence, and directed it to a parking spot immediately behind the guardhouse, with tire spikes in the ground to keep it there.

When Daario had first arrived in Baghdad, the land around the rear of the Palace was a junk-strewn sandlot, with little more than a dirt trail from the river to the central dome. But its new occupant had filled it with plush grass, fountains, and cedar trees lining a wide brick walkway.

“I see she's taken up landscape architecture,” Tyrion quipped as he got out of the car and looked around. He hadn’t visited the Palace since shortly after her self-coronation, when he paid her the bare minimum courtesies a foreign dignitary showed a new leader.

Tyrion had been ‘recruited’ during the coup, though until now, Dany had preferred to keep him on the American government’s payroll. To Daario’s surprise, and Tyrion’s, she never asked him to do a single thing as Ambassador that he wouldn’t have otherwise done. Cersei despised her brother, Dany explained, and had probably stacked the embassy with spies, looking for any hint of betrayal. Now, for whatever reason, she decided he’d be more useful as a private citizen.

Daario looked down at the dwarf and smirked. “She's out here every Saturday at six in the morning, pulling up weeds with her bare hands.” There was no need to clarify the sarcasm.

For a pompous fancy type, Tyrion was a decent guy. A functional alcoholic and shameless poon hound, he had a knack for making people like him in spite of themselves, which made him a valuable asset. But Daenerys liked to knock valuable assets down a peg; especially those who had known her before she rose to power. She was a different person, now. She was a head of state. She _was_ the state, and she was fucking loco, and dangerous, and done hiding it.

Daario led Dany’s guest into the Palace, down an ornate marble hall, and into the Throne Room, which had once been the chamber of the Iraqi Parliament. Atop a series of steps on the far side of the room, at the end of a long red carpet, was the Throne itself; a single black piece of cast iron, with dragon heads on the arms and rubies for their eyes; understated but terrifying, to match Daenerys herself.

“There are cameras,” Daario warned Tyrion when they stopped, still about thirty feet from the steps. “Stand with your back straight and your hands folded in front of you, or she’ll make a comment about your posture. Look around and marvel a bit, but don’t keep your head turned for too long. Address her as ‘Your Majesty,’ and for the love of God, take a knee when she comes in. Otherwise…hoo, boy.”

“Jesus, she’s not fucking around these days.”

“It’s a test,” Daario explained. “Respect the formalities, and she’ll ease up. Do one of your ‘self-loathing rich guy with a fucked up family’ jokes. She loves that shit.” He whistled, and Dany’s three doberman sweetie pies came bounding into the room.

Tyrion froze in fear as the dogs circled and sniffed him; their mouths just about level with his throat.

“They’re harmless.” Daario smiled, and made his way to a side entrance near the Throne.

He found Her Majesty on a couch in the anteroom, watching Tyrion on a closed-circuit feed on her iPad, holding it so Missandei could watch from beside her. Drape Girl knelt leashed and naked at her feet; her face still ravaged by blood and tears; her hair still wet with God-knows-what. Daenerys was dressed for a run; leggings, sneakers, and a jacket. And her crown, which somehow matched the outfit perfectly.

Dany smiled, handed Missandei the iPad, and stood. “Excellent posture on that one.”

Daario held his hand out, assuming he’d be taking Drape Girl upstairs, but Dany gripped the leash tighter and wrapped more of the chain around her fist. “The slave comes with, as do you.” _She’s finally gone Full Caligula._

He and Missandei entered the Throne Room first. Missandei did her spiel, and Dany entered with her slave, who groaned in pain every time her knee hit the marble. The dogs circled Tyrion as he dropped to one knee. Dany sat, and Drape Girl knelt next to the Throne with her eyes toward the floor. Her Majesty handed Daario the leash, for safe keeping.

“Rise,” she commanded Tyrion, motioning him to step forward. He did, and the dogs followed, still wary. Tyrion’s face couldn’t conceal his horror. Dany raised an eyebrow at him. “Does something offend you?”

“Your Majesty, I--” One of the dogs nipped at him before he could finish.

“Mark Zuckerberg wears the same t-shirt every day,” Dany went on. _Here she goes with the feminism again._ “And they call him brilliant for not wasting his time on fashion statements. I’ve done more than he ever will, but I can’t hold court in gym clothes? Please, explain why not.”

Tyrion let out an appalled laugh. “It’s not the clothes, Your Majesty.”

Dany chuckled, then looked down at Drape Girl, then back at her newest employee. “Oh, that? You’ve known this about me since Jon Snow’s visit,” she reminded him. “Yet here you are.”

“I didn’t expect--”

“I don’t flaunt this in polite company,” she cut him off. “But you’re no longer polite company. You’re a _servant_. I don’t hide my nature from servants.”

Tyrion did the math, and decided he liked being alive _._ “Fair enough, I suppose.”

“I’m glad you ‘suppose’ I’m ‘fair enough,’” Dany responded, derisively. “And in that spirit, I’m giving you one last chance to back out. Turn around now, if you want, and go back to America. Make my life the slightest bit difficult, and I’ll bring you back here and do things to you that will make you _envy_ this whore at my feet. Otherwise, you have my word, I’ll leave you alone. So, one last time, are you in or out?”

Tyrion took a deep breath. “I’m in.”

“Why?” Dany shot back. “Don’t bullshit me. _Why_ do you want to serve me?”

Tyrion collected his words. “Because you can’t argue with results, Your Majesty. And...unconventional pastimes aside, you’ve done more for your nation as a whole than anyone thought possible. I don’t know exactly what you want, but I think I have the gist, and I want to help you achieve it.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Another scathing dig at his insolence. “Tell me about your sister. Is it really as bad as they say in the news?”

“It is,” Tyrion answered. “She's alienated all her advisors, except her chief of staff. Qyburn is an utter moron, but he’s got her convinced he's a master of intrigue.” Tyrion thought for a moment. “She’s Lucille Bluth. He’s [Gene Parmesan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBQwm_Szr8Q).”

Dany cackled, her eyes lit up. _Oh, he’s good._ Herself the product of a rich but disgraced family of delusional man-children, Dany could carry on whole conversations exclusively in _Arrested Development_ references.

“Geeeeeeeene!!” Her Majesty shrieked, and waved Her Majestic hands around like an idiot. “Isn’t he the _best?!_ "

“Gene was far from the best,” a smirking Tyrion narrated, in Ron Howard’s stead.

Bond sealed, and regal bearing dispensed with, Dany snapped her fingers to call the dogs back to her, then relaxed and crossed her legs. “What about the Pentagon? She’s kept them busy, do they still like her?”

“They did,” Tyrion explained, “until she started blaming them for the war going poorly. Some of them still like her. You know the type--give them something to kill and they’ll love you forever. But the ones with two braincells to rub together are counting down the days until she’s out.”

“And our friend?” Everyone knew whom she meant. “Do they like him?”

“They respect his war record,” Tyrion answered. “But the brass thinks he's too young, and he’s a Democrat, so they assume he’s a dirty hippie, no matter what he says.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Anyone with a rudimentary grasp of American politics could guess that, but that wasn’t the point. _It wasn't a question. It was the first half of an order._ Dany preferred to let her orders give themselves, in the form of obvious answers and logical conclusions. It got her servants into the habit of anticipating what would please her, and seeing her words and common sense as one and the same. She let the silence hang, and looked at Tyrion expectantly.

Tyrion took a stab at giving her what she wanted. “Moderate Republicans like his unity schtick. He could make inroads with them.”

“Mhm.” Dany nodded.

“Which is why I'm here.” Tyrion smirked. _He’s figuring out the game._

She smiled, and gave her newest employee a jokingly polite golf clap. “Which is why you’re going back to New York. _Now._ I’ve taken the liberty of sending men to your residence. Your things are packed.”

Tyrion was smarter than to object. “Not Washington?” _Come on, play the game._

Dany cocked her head. “What’s helpful to Jon Snow, and abundant in New York but not Washington?”

“Moderate Republicans?”

“What else? What _really_ rules the world?”

“Money.”

Satisfied, Dany nodded, and took the leash back from Daario. “Even at my worst, I’m ten steps ahead of you at your best,” she warned him, as she stood. “I strongly advise you remember that. Get him to New York while I’m there next week. Send him home with a fat stack of checks from your Wall Street friends.” She smiled. “And give him one night in the city alone.”

Tyrion bowed, as Dany tugged the leash and led her slave back to the anteroom, with Daario and Missandei in tow.

A week later, Daario found himself at the Iraqi Permanent Mission to the UN; a rowhouse on 79th Street in Manhattan, between 5th Avenue and Madison. It was nice, as pre-war New York rowhouse went; good hardwood floors covered by what looked like very expensive Persian rugs. The only annoying thing was loud, hissing radiator near the bedroom window, with a steam pipe running through the floor to the ceiling.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Dany warned him, seconds after her servants dropped their bags off. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

 _Already?_ Daario was jetlagged as hell, but the Queen was bouncing around like a kid on a sugar high. “Does your date know that?”

“Pfff.” Dany smiled. “Of course not. Get the surprise date kit, and wait for me in the car.”

Daario got the ‘surprise date kit,’ a duffel bag filled with zip ties, duct tape, a hunting knife, a canvas hood, and tasers, just in case. He warmed up the car, a black Mercedes S600 with tinted windows and armor plating. Dany emerged a few minutes later, smelling like fruity shampoo instead of airplane. She was dressed for a proper date; the whorish $1,600 Louboutin boots, naturally. And leather pants, and that sexy black trench coat, like something out of a Columbine-themed porn movie.

She hopped in the front seat, kissed him briefly, and directed him to the Hyatt on 42nd Street, adjacent to Grand Central Terminal. It was after midnight, traffic was sparse by Manhattan standards, and the car had diplomatic plates, which allowed them to blow through all the red lights they wanted.

Dany took his hand as he parked on 42nd Street near the hotel, with the engine running, facing west. “And now, we wait.”

Daario sighed, his eyelids heavy. “Until when?”

“Until his back alley cigarette break, which he _will_ take.” _Why are you so sure he’ll take one?_ But he was too tired to bring it up. She paused, and stroked his cheek with her delicate little fingertips. “You’re tired, I know. It will be over soon, I promise.”

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, Senator Fucktoy exited the lobby and ducked into a dark corner. He looked remarkably like the Unabomber, in sweatpants and a hoodie, to avoid being recognized and creating a scandal. But to the keen eye of a professional rape accomplice, it was most definitely him.

They left the car running and the doors open for a quick getaway, then stuck close to the wall, hiding themselves in the shadows of an overhang. Dany gave Daario one last smile, then quickly rounded the corner and found Jon with his back to the street, just as he finished lighting up.

She snatched the cigarette from between Jon’s fingers before he even knew she was there. “That’s a bad habit,” she mockingly warned him. Daario moved behind Jon and duct taped his mouth shut before he could get a word out, then zip-tied his wrists behind his back. She took a drag herself and tossed it to the ground, then blew the smoke in his face. As he waved the smoke away from his eyes, Dany pinned his foot in place with her heel, pulled the waistband of his sweatpants open, and reached inside, holding her switchblade against his cock. “Understandable, given what I’ve put you through. But what will you say to the _children?!_ "

Jon struggled out of surprise, but stayed strangely calm when he realized who was toying with him.

Dany pointed to the Mercedes. “Get in the fucking car, my love. Before I make a scene.” Dany hopped in the back seat, as Daario dragged her surprised date across the sidewalk and threw him in with her. Dany positioned his head on her lap, and put the switchblade to his throat.

“Ssssh.” She stroked his hair and pressed the blade against him, as Daario threw the car in gear and drove off. “I know you’ve got a fundraiser tomorrow. I’ll get you there on time, I promise. Now, if I take this tape off, will you be a good boy, or have you forgotten who the _fuck_ I am?”

Daario heard Jon mumble compliantly.

“Good. I’m about to give your face a Brazilian, I'm sorry.” Dany ripped off the duct tape.

“Ow!”

She giggled. “Actually, I'm not the least bit sorry. Give Daddy a kiss.” The back of the car went silent, save for the smacking of lips and tongues.

“ _Oooooooooooo..._ ” Dany teased, like a third-grader teasing a classmate who just got sent to the principal's office. “You've got a _bonerrrrrrr….”_

“Yes,” Jon replied, his voice trembling, more with lust than fear.

“But it's freezing cold outside,” Dany observed, “and I just put a knife to your cock. Or is that _because_ I put a knife to your cock?” The lust in her voice was far less surprising.

“I don't know,” Jon replied. “Does it matter?”

“Mmmm.” _That made her wet._ Daario could sense it. “You do remember who I am, don't you?”

“Mhm.” _Wow._

“Come here.” Lips and tongues smacked together once again. _Jesus Christ, she’s fucked him up good._

“Where are we going?” Jon asked, casually.

“Iraqi soil,” Dany answered. “ _My_ soil. My rules.”

“Mmm.”

 _You think that’s good for you?_ Daario stayed silent as they raced up Madison Avenue, but Jon’s whole demeanor mystified him. He didn’t seem to fear her, like anyone in their right mind should. _Is it love? Stockholm Syndrome? Does he get off on this shit?_ Being with Dany had enlightened Daario to the appeal of being bossed around and used a bit, but this was a different level.

Dany lept out of the car when they got back, shouldered the front door open, and bounded upstairs to the bedroom. Daario followed, and tossed Jon to the floor.

The senator fell onto his side. Dany kicked him in the gut, then snapped her fingers and pointed to her feet.

“Kiss,” Her Majesty commanded, utterly devoid of the sweetness she’d shown him in the car. “Like the bitch you are.”

Jon squirmed around, trying to right himself. Daario grabbed his zip-tie, pulled him to his knees, and pushed his nose to the floor. “You heard the woman.”

Jon kissed her soft, fine leather boots.

Dany shot Daario an icy look. _What did I do?_ “Untie his wrists.”

Daario nodded, pulled the knife from his pocket, and cut the tie. Jon’s arms flew free, and went right around Dany’s legs, clutching them desperately, adoringly, just below the knees. _Damn, that’s fucked up._ But all Dany did was smile down at her slave.

She motioned to Daario. “Knife.”

 _What happened to your switchblade?_ He handed it to her regardless. She pulled away from Jon, and dropped both knives into the small gap between the radiator and the wall. For the first time, Daario noticed two sets of shackles on the floor, each fixed to a leg of the radiator. _How did she get those around there?_ Very carefully, he supposed.

“Strip. Both of you.” Dany herself stayed fully dressed. As the men obeyed, she scrolled through her phone, paired it with a set of speakers, and put on that goddamn _Hamilton_ soundtrack again.  _Not too loud, though, thank God_. “I know I promised tickets,” she smiled at Jon. “But there are some things even I can’t do.”

When Daario finished, she waved him over to the radiator, and pointed to the floor. “Shackle yourself.” _Seriously?_ But she’d promised it would be over soon, so he went along with it, and stood facing the bed. Dany grabbed a zip-tie from the duffel bag, came back and kissed him, then pushed his wrists behind his back and bound them. _Jesus, that radiator is hot._ And dangerous, frankly, to stand so close. Annoyed, but not enough to complain, Daario took a few steps forward.

Jon laid his clothes neatly in a corner. Dany pulled him to the center of the room by his hair, pushed him back to his knees, and let him nuzzle against her and smell her crotch. Jon inhaled deeply clutched her legs again, almost purring, this time feeling bold enough to run his hands up to her ass and squeeze. Dany blushed and petted him, looked over at Daario, and mouthed a _‘so cute!’_

“You’ve been a busy boy, haven’t you?” She looked down at Jon.

He grinned like an idiot. “Yes, Daddy.”

 _She’s really done a number on this one._ Not that he could blame the man for liking the scent of Dany’s crotch, but Jon looked like he was getting high from it.

“All for me, right?”

“ _All_ for you.” He would never have told her otherwise, of course. Not if he wanted to keep his balls. But this wasn’t the rote platitude of a freshly broken man. This was a solemn vow from a man famous for the solemnity of his vows.

Dany liked that answer, and crouched to kiss him; soft, slow, and sweet; sweeter than Daario had ever seen her. “Help Daddy get her clothes off,” she told him as she stood back up.

Jon stood as well, and unbuttoned Dany’s trench coat, blithely enamored. He hung it neatly from a hook on the bedroom door, then went back to his Queen, who had seated herself at the foot of the mattress. Daario watched, a bit unsettled, as Jon removed her [ sweater](https://www.net-a-porter.com/us/en/product/994079/adeam/cold-shoulder-cotton-blend-turtleneck-sweater), then the tank top beneath. Under that was a [ black and pink bra](http://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/nayeli-bra-pink-and-black); another piece in Dany’s collection of lingerie that screamed ‘fuck you, look how much I can spend on lingerie.’

Dany looked up at him when he noticed it, and grinned, inviting him down for a kiss. He spent a few seconds on her lips, then kissed down her neck as she fell back onto her elbows, then lower, between her breasts. Just as he was getting comfortable, she grabbed his hair, tugged his eyes back to hers, and flashed him that terrifying stare of hers.

Jon blushed, and looked away. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Her stare melted into a warm smile; her grip on his hair into a loving pet. She stroked his cheek, inviting his eyes back to hers. “Soon.” She pushed down gently on the top of his head, sending him to his knees, though his eyes stayed locked with hers, gauging her reaction, promising not to be so presumptuous again.

“When are you meeting with the _Des Moines Register?_ " Dany asked, as Jon’s knees hit the floor.

He kept his eyes on hers, and unzipped her boots. “Tomorrow, when I land.” His face pleaded for her approval.

Dany nodded, and gave it to him. “Any other endorsements in the works?”

Jon slid one boot off. “So far, just the _Huffington Post._ "

Dany snickered, and tapped his face playfully with her socked foot. “Are you sure it was an endorsement? Some of their articles are borderline incoherent, like [ they don’t even proofread them](http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/emilia-clarke/emilia-clarke-feminism_b_15076204.html).” Before Jon could respond, she pressed her sole against his nose. “Maybe they said ‘we endorse Jon Snow,’ when they meant ‘Jon Snow is a dirty little bitch who likes to get on his knees and smell Daenerys Targaryen’s gross, sweaty socks she worn to the gym for three days straight.’”

 _Apparently, they’d be right._ Jon closed his eyes, kissed her sole, and scratched against it with his stubble.

She let him enjoy her foot for a few seconds, then smacked him with it. “Enough. Finish.”

Red in the face and obviously aroused, Jon pulled her sock off, stuffed it in the boot, and set it aside.

“So I have a bit of a confession,” Dany went on, as Jon continued with the other boot.

She extended her foot when he got her other sock off. Jon kissed the top, almost chivalrously, and looked up.

Dany sat upright, and pointed to her zipper. “Remember how I kept threatening to kill you unless got me pregnant?”

Jon nodded as he unzipped her, and slid her pants down her legs.

Dany leaned in and whispered as her pants got below her knees. “I was on the pill.”

To Daario’s surprise, Jon looked hurt. “What?”

 _I’d be thanking her, if I were you._ Getting her pregnant would destroy his career, as she’d constantly remind him. Even if he’d stopped caring about that, he’d have to think of her every time he looked at his kid.

“I just wanted an excuse to rape you, and torture you, and keep you desperate to please me.” Her face lit up with pure evil. She shrugged, bit her lips, and finished taking her pants off herself.

“I didn’t know you needed an excuse,” Jon shot back. The adoration had suddenly dried up.

“Well, no,” Dany conceded, as she slid a hand under her panties. “But it fucked your mind up wonderfully, didn’t it?” She slid her foot back under his nose. “It got you addicted to this. Made you _want_ to get raped. It’s why you’re on your knees right now, begging with your eyes for one more chance to bind yourself to me forever.”

Jon got off his knees, which made Dany downright giddy.

She giggled, and slid further back onto the bed, challenging him. “You mad, bro?”

“I wanted a baby with you,” he replied flatly, as she teased his rapidly growing cock with her foot. _He still does,_ Daario realized, as Jon followed her onto the bed. It was one of the most fucked up things he’d ever witnessed.

“I know, it’s adorable.” She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. “But I’ve been off the pill for a while, now. Ask my friend here.” She turned to Daario. “When was the last time you had my pussy?”

 _Wait a minute._ But neither Dany nor Jon were interested in a precise answer; only the surprise and confusion on his face. _That cunt._

“See?” Dany turned back to Jon, and slid her panties just a few inches down. “And even if I’m full of shit, what’s the downside? You’re a free man, now… Sort of. What’s wrong with a little hate-fuck every now and then?”

She flipped onto her stomach and pushed her panties over the curve of her ass, then down the back of her thighs, writhing and wiggling so perfectly that she could have had a live cobra in her pussy, and any man with a pulse would have been powerless not to fuck it. “Come on,” she beckoned, turning to face Daario as her panties reached her knees. “Knock me up. Pound me like the sick little cunt I am. Plant your fucking seed in me. Give me what--”

Jon got behind her and smacked her ass. “Stop talking.” He and yanked her back and lined up his cock, which startled her, and got her to stop talking. She moaned softly, eagerly, like she hadn’t had a good startle in years.

Daario had never seen her like this with another man. With victims, she was always on top; always in control. For some men, a comment like ‘stop talking’ would mean _they’d_ stop talking, forever. But that woman seemed to vanish entirely, as Jon slid himself inside her. She arched her back and gripped the sheets, practically begging him to fuck some humility into her; some remorse, for all she’d done to him.

It was like she’d become someone else entirely. Some cheap slut, like the ones Daario would meet in Tijuana, when he was a freshly minted Marine, stationed in San Diego. All he had to do was show up at the bar in uniform, and their clothes would be halfway off.

The Daenerys he knew would fuck like she was the Marine. Like every thrust was a battle; like the pleasure was a distraction from her mission, to crush and conquer and prove a point about who owned the world around them. He liked that Daenerys, and he liked his cheap sluts from Tijuana, but seeing one become the other was oddly scary. _She’s setting a trap,_ Daaro figured. _She’ll do this until he feels safe, then kick him in the balls and beat him bloody._

Dany fought to compose herself after the initial shock and ecstasy, then stared at Daario. “What, you’re too jetlagged to get your dick up?!” She shouted, angrily. “Get the fuck over here!”

The command seemed to irritate Jon, who closed his eyes, blocked it out, and pounded away. Dany’s eyes rolled back in her head, as Daario stepped forward. He almost made it to her, when the chains around his ankles ran out of slack, and he froze in his tracks, twisting his body, trying in vain to free his wrists from the zip-tie.

His frustrated grunt, and the tensing of the chains, brought Dany’s purple eyes back into view, and they pierced right through him. “It _scares_ you how well he fucks me,” she whispered, snarling. She didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. It was a fact; a disturbing fact, but undeniable.

For as much as he was trying to ignore Daario, Jon most certainly did not miss that comment. He smiled to himself, and smacked Dany on the ass again to emphasize the truth of it, which made Dany’s back curve until her stomach practically touched the mattress. _She can't leave you for this boy._ Though when he wasn’t on his knees, or hanging from the ceiling like a string puppet, he looked much less like a boy.

Dany reached out and grabbed Daario’s cock, opening her mouth and tugging, looking up at him with taunting confusion, like she hadn’t known all along that his chains were just a bit too short. Dany made no secret of her love for cruel teasing, but as she pumped his cock with her hand, Daario found himself growing ever more wary of her. She rarely teased him in front of others, and as far as he could remember, she'd never restrained him with another man in the room. That was why she kept him around, he'd thought. He was the muscle; the man who kept the others from overpowering her while she had her fun.

She narrowed her eyes. “It _should_ scare you. You’ve forgotten how much you should fear me. You’ve--”

Jon spanked her again. “I said _stop talking!_ "

Nobody expected that; not even Jon. The room went silent, save for his grunts of exertion, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and the screams that slipped through Dany’s grasp.

The woman was a screamer; even comatose deaf people knew that. But she was also a talker, and a haggler, and an instigator. “ _Please..._ ” Dany turned her head back and begged. “Please don’t stop. Please…” There was a weakness to her voice; a helplessness. Jon pounded against her, harder, grunting louder. That gave her some strength, but did nothing to free her from his thrall. “Fuck! Yes! _Yes!_ ” She didn’t seem to care; like she wanted to stay in his thrall for as long as he wanted her. “Come inside me! Please, please, please, I need your baby, come in my fucking pussy, I need it, _PLEASE!!_ "

 _She said ‘please,’ like a good girl,_ Daario couldn’t help but notice. _For him._ That bothered him more than he cared to admit. _She’ll still come back to you in the end,_ he told himself, because he had to. He’d seen what Daenerys Targaryen did to the men she didn’t come back to; especially those who knew too much. And Daario knew far too much. _She likes him for the power, that’s all._ If Jon actually won this election, he’d be on a very short list of people whose opinions she might actually care about. _But am I on that list?_

The look in her eyes only made it worse, when she turned forward again. _She knows what that did to me. She’s feeding on it._ “Please,” she whispered; barely audible, with one hand on her clit. Daario took that for the twist of the knife that it was. _Teach this bitch some respect, or you’ll lose it forever._ Hiding the pain from his face, Daario tried to pull away, but all it got him was a fist around his balls.

“Do that again, Daario Naharis. I dare you.” Her stare terrified him. He leaned back reflexively, but she held him in place. “Are you sure you’re that special?” A few minutes ago, he might have been. She tugged his balls toward the floor. “ _Kneel._ "

With no choice but to fall to his knees, he watched as she surrendered herself to this short, quiet, unassuming man who had once been her victim.

“I love him,” Dany growled. “Like I could _never_ love you.” _Why is she telling me this? And why does it hurt?_ “He’s breeding me. _He_ gets my pussy, now. And my womb. You get the scraps, and you’ll thank me for them.”

Jon screamed and pulled her back by her hair, lifting her head toward the ceiling. It peeled her eyes away from Daario’s, and she forgot him in an instant, like a dog forgetting a tree she was sniffing when her owner tugs her head away. She screamed in ecstatic pain, as Jon held onto her hair with one hand and twisted her nipple with the other. He dropped her again and grabbed her hips for the final thrusts, slamming himself against her, faster by the second, her ass bouncing and rippling. Until he grunted, and left it in.

 _“Fill me!_ " Dany commanded, but Jon was well underway, groaning, emptying himself inside her. Another thrust, as deep as he could. He held her in place again. Then another, then another, then another, until he’d claimed her completely.

Dany stretched out on her stomach as Jon collapsed on the bed behind her and caught his breath; her limbs sprawled across the mattress. After a minute, she crawled forward, tipped herself over the foot of the bed, and lifted her legs, almost into a handstand.

“ _Swim_ , my pretties,” she jokingly implored Jon’s sperm. Daario would have laughed, had he not been drowning in rage and angst. Dany held herself there, until her face started to turn red, then pulled herself back onto the mattress and looked at Daario.

“That was harsh, I’m sorry,” she smiled sheepishly. “You know how I get with the dirty talk.”

 _She looks sincere,_ Daario thought. Then he remembered who she was. _You’re an idiot._

Dany waited for her face to turn back to its normal color, then sat up and dangled her feet off the edge of the mattress. You’d like a turn now, wouldn’t you?”

“If I’m allowed,” he replied, petulantly, in case she thought he was serious. _You’ll regret that._ She raised that fucking eyebrow of hers. _Yup._

She reached back and tugged Jon’s wrist, pulling him upright. “I don’t know. Is he allowed to fuck me?” Before he could process the question, she put a finger over his lips. “Shut the fuck up and think.” She grinned stupidly. “He’s a bit of an idiot, but he’s quite good with his dick.” Daario felt a bit encouraged by that.

A trumpet blared on the speakers. [ _Her favorite song_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IWdBOsk8D7A) _._ Dany reached for her phone and raised the volume. _‘Ah, Mr. Secretary--Mr. Burr, sir…’_

“Then again,” she continued, “his boys might swim faster than yours, and I’ll have to tell the press I got knocked up in a threesome with a presidential candidate and my man-whore bodyguard. In Iraq, I’ll just murder anyone who suggests that’s a bad thing, obviously. But you don’t have that luxury. So what do you think, Mr. President? Should we let him fuck me?”

Jon looked up at Daario, then at Dany, then back at Daario, right in his eyes. “No.”

Dany thrived on shit like that. “Ooh, surly! I like it. But he votes yes, and I haven’t come yet, so it appears you're outnumbered. Democracy kinda sucks, doesn’t it?” Daario smirked.

She stood, ran her fingers through his hair, kissed him, then turned back to Jon. “But fuck democracy, right? You're mine, now. You _know_ the advantage of an iron fist.” Jon looked at her, as confused as Daario.

_‘Two Virginians and an immigrant walk into a room…’_

Dany went back toward the radiator, rustled around, and came back with the hunting knife she’d dropped behind it. _How?_ She grinned at both of them, singing along. “The immigrant emerges with unprecedented financial power; a system he can shape however he wants…” _Of course this is her favorite song._

She retrieved her panties from the bed and a blindfold from the nightstand, and stood behind Daario.

 _‘The Virginians emerge with the nation’s capital…’_ His vision went black, and cunt-flavored silk filled his mouth.

Dany kept singing as she duct taped over the gag. “And here's the pièce de résistance…”

She grabbed his hair with one hand, and put the knife to his throat with the other. “This one bores me, now,” she announced over the chorus, clearly addressing Jon. “And he’ll be a jealous little bitch, now that you’re the only man I fuck. So prove you've learned the importance of an iron fist. _Fight_ for your master.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Jon replied.

Daario felt her lock his arms in place from behind, then the sting of a backhand to his face.

“Fuck yes!” Dany shouted. “More!”

Jon gave her more, to the other cheek. Dany pulled Daario against her, moaning wantonly, like she did with a tongue on her clit.

“That’s all you’ve got?! _More!_ "

A fist to the cheekbone; another to the jaw. Daario reeled.

“That’s it, bitch,” Dany growled. “ _Wreck_ his fucking face…” Jon’s blows were relentless, deliberate, harder than Daario would have guessed. He screamed through his gag and tried to get away, but Dany pressed the knife harder against his throat, freezing him. “Defiance won’t end well for you,” she warned. “Really, it will be over soon, I promise.” Jon grunted and gave him a kick to the balls, as punishment for his treason.

She dragged Daario toward the radiator, until could feel the heat of the metal, then suddenly released him. He fought his way off his knees, as another uppercut landed under his jaw. Dany yanked his shackles back, and his feet slipped out from under him.

She gave a terrifying laugh as he hit the floor, face first. “Don’t you get it, Captain?! Don't you understand you're _fucked?!_ " She taunted him, shaking his chains. Daario lifted his face off the floor, right into a kick to the side of the head. “Show me what you are, Jon Snow! Show me the monster you’ve become!”

Jon grunted, pulled Daario up by his hair, and showed her, over and over, as the music went on. _‘..._ _it doesn't matter where you put the U.S. Capitol,’_  

Dany growled the last part into his ear. “‘Cause we'll have the _banks…_ "

Another blow landed square on his nose. “I wanted what I got.”

One more, on each cheekbone. “...you stay in the game…”

And another to his jaw. “...you get hate for it…”

She dragged Daario even closer to the radiator. “...wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…”

He assumed he was ‘waiting’ for Dany to slit his throat, and almost _wanted_ that. But in retrospect, was far too merciful. She lifted him by his biceps, then stuffed his wrists and forearms in the gap between the radiator and the wall, where she'd dropped her knife earlier.

At first, Daario felt nothing. Then he heard the hissing steam. _Hot...HOT!!_ He screamed and thrashed and tried to stand, but some weight pressed his arms hard against the metal. Dany's fingers combed through the hair on the back of his head, as he realized what was holding his arms down. _Those are her legs._

“Get it!” Dany shouted. “In the nightstand!”

He knew this woman was into some crazy shit, but he'd never seen her grill her own ass just to hear a man scream. _Her hips are grinding,_ he realized. Slowly. Deliberately. She was getting off on it. _Why doesn't this hurt her?_

“Parlor trick,” she whispered in his ear. _This isn't happening._

The blindfold came off. Jon stood by the nightstand with a hard cock and a gun pointed at the both of them. “Serve your Queen!” Dany shouted over Daario’s screams, and the music. “ _Do it!_ ”

 _Yeah, just do it._ Daario felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. His vision dimmed.

_‘Dark as a tomb where it happens…’_

“ _Fuck yes!!_ ” Dany loved this more than she’d ever loved being fucked. “ _God_ , that blood makes me so _fucking wet!_ ” _How else did you think this would end?_

“Do it again! In the heart! _I command it!_ "

The music built to a crescendo. _‘...where it happens….’_

Daario never found out if he did it again; he never even heard the shot.


	6. Daenerys III

Dany sipped her Nespresso from her tiny cup, with one pinky in the air, and supervised Jon as he stuffed Daario's torso into the furnace. She could have had her other guards do it, but nothing fascinated Dany like a burning body, living or dead, and Jon’s chest and arms looked so damn good when he worked a bow saw, covered in sweat and blood spatter.

Jon turned and looked up from his knees. “I think that’s it.”

Her Majesty nodded in the affirmative, set her cup down on a workbench, and pointed to her feet, bare on the concrete floor of the rowhouse; the rest of her covered only by a t-shirt and a dead man’s boxers.

Jon kissed with due reverence. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Dany held his cheeks in her hands and smiled adoringly. “You don’t have to call me that all the time, you know.”

Jon blushed. "Sometimes it's oddly appropriate."

"Nothing about this is appropriate," Dany giggled. “Rise.”

He stood.

“You were such a good boy last night. I’m proud of you.” Neither of them had slept. The sight of Jon murdering a virtual stranger at her command made Dany leap off that radiator like something out of a Kung Fu movie, and pounce on him while Daario’s blood was still spreading on the floor.

His blush stayed, but she could tell he was still a bit disturbed with himself. _Understandable_. Most people didn’t realize how easily they could murder in cold blood, with the right motivation. _Daddy has so much to teach you, doesn’t she?_

“Was he bothering you?” Jon finally asked.

Dany shrugged. “Not really, but does that matter?” She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. _Say it, bitch._

“Nothing matters but your will.”

“Precisely.” She stood on her toes and kissed him softly on the lips. “Now let’s clean you up. You’ve got a breakfast to get to.”

Jon had a busy day ahead of him. First was a fundraising breakfast, full of lawyers and finance bros whom Jon despised, and even Dany found grating. Then straight to Iowa, for the final week of campaigning before the caucus.

They went upstairs, where Dany commanded him to draw a bath. She yanked his sweatpants down like a middle school bully as he filled the tub, then helped him into the water, to groans of relief.

“Keep your hands dry.” She knelt beside him and dragged a loofah across his back. “I want them covered in gunshot residue and traces of blood when you work those crowds. I want you to leave my mark on all of them.”

Jon groaned again, and closed his eyes, as the tension disappeared from his muscles. A smile crept onto his face. _Does that feel good? Do you like the twisted little things I make you do?_ His cock answered for him, stirring beneath the surface.

Only Daenerys could make that cock move from talk of blood and gunpowder, and she knew it. Only she could make him want nothing more than to leave that house marked as a murderer and charm thousands of people into naming him the leader of the free world. _It won’t be free for long._

To the cameras, and the crowds, he was the savior they’d hoped for; the straight-talking healer of a broken nation, who could lead it back in time, to before Cersei Lannister ran it into the ground. His stump speech was light on promises and heavy on principles, and after eight years of Cersei and the prospect of Margaery Tyrell succeeding her, voters ate it up. _But it’s all for me. For my birthright. For the natural order._

Dany squeezed the loofah over his hair, rubbed his scalp with her fingertips, and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re the sweetest little pet,” she whispered. “It’s sickening, actually.” She nipped playfully at his neck, and watched him slouch even farther into the water; her touch, and her words, and her breath on his skin overcoming anything inside him still foolish enough to resist. She liked to think of him as her fourth doberman; fierce and ruthless, but unshakably loyal, though in the moment, he purred more like a kitten. _Jesus Christ, I can't get enough of this man._

It was a strange feeling. She wanted to fuck him, and hurt him, and control him, but she also just wanted him. His presence, the sound of his voice, his stupid pout that even she couldn't beat out of him. The knowledge that she'd broken his will to resist the things she put him through, and turned it into a visceral need to fight for her, against whomever she commanded. The way she could let him question her sometimes, or fuck her like a cheap whore, but know she still had absolute power over every move of every muscle in that boy's body; every little synapse in that brain of his.

Without realizing it, her hand dipped under the water and wrapped around his cock, as it stood unwaveringly hard; utterly beyond his control. “Whose is this?” Her heart beat just a bit faster.

“Yours…”

“Mine. All of it. Every second of every day, no matter where you are. Not yours. _Mine_.” She teased it with her fingertips, then ran them down to his balls. “And what's in here?”

“Your heirs…”

 _Yours, too, but mostly mine._ “Such a good boy.” She squeezed the loofah over his head, to rinse his hair. “Stay there. Don't breathe.”

Jon nodded, closed his eyes, and took a deep, relaxed breath. _Um, what?_ She smacked his eyes open and stared him down, with fire in her eyes hot enough to boil him alive in the tub. He held his breath, like he should have done the first time.

With that little rebellion crushed, Dany skipped into the bedroom and opened Daario's shaving kit, smiling to herself at all the little squeeze bottles. _The man was never short on lube, I'll give him that._ She found something waterproof, then skipped back, to find her boy right where he was, terrified that his body might force him to defy her for oxygen.

 _Seriously, he's so damn cute, it's disgusting._ She smacked him lovingly on the back of the head. “Breathe.”

Jon gasped, in relief and gratitude. _Gah, the cute, I can't stand it!_ Dany smiled, stripped, lubed herself up, and climbed in with him. He looked at her, surprised at the stamina she could muster in him. “Again?”

“Mhm. Daddy’s gonna fuck you one more time.” _I’d drain the semen out of you with a bilge pump, if I could._ She pinned his wrists to the rim of the tub. “But don't move your _fucking_ hands.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Dany lowered herself onto his cock, letting the water take her down nice and slow, staring deeper into his eyes with every inch. Her fingernails dug into his arms as the pleasure spread through her body with the heat from the water. “That was the first time I ever had a man killed for fun, you know.” _And god damn, it was fun._ Her hips began to rock. “What about you?”

Jon had killed before. Dozens of insurgents, single-handedly, on a mission to rescue a hundred girls held hostage for the crime of going to school. It had launched his political career, and everyone knew it. He rarely spoke about it, but when he did, he downplayed his heroism and launched into a sermon on how the whole war was needless and the real threats to America were far more insidious and harder to spot. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t enjoy it?” She feigned surprise, smiling as her hands moved from his arms to his chest. “Why not?”

“I just—”

“You did it because I commanded you,” she finished for him.

Jon looked up with the most adorable puppy eyes, knowing that obedience alone was never enough for her.

Dany let her hands creep slowly up to his neck, and rested her thumbs on either side of his windpipe. She stayed silent for a moment, and watched his body react. _Girls who like to get choked have daddy issues, I’m told._ “So I’ll ask again…” _Give this girl some daddy issues._ “Why not?”

He tried to force an ‘I’m sorry’ past her thumbs, but Dany wasn’t having it. _Kings don’t apologize. They learn, and do better._ She pinned his neck against the back of the tub and dragged his head under the water, following it with her eyes until the ripples broke her stare.

 _Mmmmm_. Dany moved her hands to his shoulders, hoping he’d gasp for air and get a chest full of water, to punish him for putting his survival instinct before his submission. But to her pleasant surprise, he did no such thing. _Fuck yes_. She rode him harder, faster, and left him underwater just a bit longer than she’d planned.

“I wanna see something,” she told him, the instant he came back to the surface, punching him in the gut before he could even breathe. He grunted, and coughed, but no water came up. _Shit, that’s hot._ She allowed him a breath or two, then pushed him back under, to teach him, and to get that unmistakable high that only the power to end a life could give her.

“Sssh.” She put a finger over his lips as soon as he came back up, before he finished catching his breath. He did his best to restrain himself, over his body’s demands for air. “Your will to live is your original sin.” She pressed herself down on him, and brought him inside as deep as she could. “It leads you astray. It makes you put yourself before me.”

He kissed her finger, grateful for helping him see the truth. That made her blush, and slide it between his lips. Jon closed his eyes and sucked unthinkingly, like the good boy he was.

“You know how good it feels to do exactly what the fuck I say,” she reminded him, “so thank me when I give you the chance.” She willed his eyes open with her stare, slid her finger out, and slapped him. “ _Right?!_ ”

Jon nodded. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Better. “You’ll kill for me again,” Dany went on. “And more. You’ll set the world back to its natural order. You’ll be my consort, and father my heir. No one else is worthy of it. Do you understand me?”

Jon shook his head. “No.” He’d caught his breath, but the pleasure was making him lose it again. Dany kept her face as straight as she could, to give him a chance to finish his thought. “But it’s your will, and that’s all that matters.”

A smile spread across her face. “Good boy. You’ll do it for me, then. All of it. All for me.”

“All for you.”

Her mouth covered his, and their tongues danced. _All for me. I'll settle for nothing less from this man._ She kissed him deeper. _Fortunately, I won’t have to._ The thought made her grind harder, faster. _More, more, more. This is your last chance._

She broke the kiss, looked at him for half a second, then screamed and arched her back as her eyes rolled to the back of her head; riding him so hard that for a moment, she forgot who she was. _Daenerys the Something, Queen of Whatever, KNOCK ME UP, YOU IDIOT!!_

Jon started to writhe and squirm, and his hands left the tub. As much as she wanted his hands on her back, and her ass, and her tits, and in her hair, the gunpowder idea was too hot to pass up, and she was not about to set a precedent for letting disobedience go unpunished because they happened to be mid-coitus. _Just make him come. That’s all that matters._

“ _Stay_ ,” she hissed, pushing his wrists back where they belonged. She spat in his face, to make herself clear. “Bitch.”

The boy remembered his place, and gripped the tub with white knuckles; the rest of his body tensing up with them. “Oh, God…” _That’s right, say my name._ He let out a moan, almost like a woman, then clenched his teeth and growled, very much like a man.

 _Yes, yes, come on, one more time_. “Fill me! Oh, fuck, yes, _fill me!_ ”

Jon lingered at the edge, longer than usual. He’s almost tapped out, she figured. _Good. Now give me every last drop._ And as always, Daenerys Targaryen got what was hers.

He moaned loudly, as his cock twitched, pulsed, and emptied itself inside her. “Fuck, yes, fuck… ”

“I said _every last drop_ ,” she warned him, close to the edge herself. _You didn't say that. You thought it,_ she reminded herself. _And? My will is all that matters, since when does it have to be audible?_ Dany rocked against him until his body went to mush, then flashed him one last glare; a reminder not to get his hands wet. She wanted to reach for her clit, but stopped herself. _Save it for next week. It will be worth it._

Dany got out of the tub. Jon got comfortable, assuming she’d be using his face, but she went straight for a towel instead. “Not today, my love.”

He looked dumbfounded. _Poor boy’s brain is giving him the Color Wheel._ Dany raised an eyebrow, daring him to question her. _Force Quit._ She reached down and helped him up, careful to lift him by his forearms and not his hands.

Once dry, Dany went to the closet and laid a garment bag on the bed. Inside was a blue [Tom Ford sharkskin suit](https://imgur.com/a/Qzrers4), white dress shirt, and [purple Ermenegildo Zegna herringbone tie](https://imgur.com/a/UKvkHc6).“You’ll wear it for your victory speech in Iowa,” she announced, leaving no room to question the command, or the impending victory. It was an astoundingly tone-deaf outfit for a blue collar Midwestern crowd, but that was the point.

“The plan was something a bit simpler,” Jon cautioned.

Dany sighed. “A blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up? Because you're ready to get to work serving the People?”

“Well, that’s what—”

“That’s what everyone else does, because their pollsters tell them to. You’re not everyone else, my love.” Dany smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “I was born to rule. You don’t know it yet, but so were you. And you will. My way.” She paused, and blushed. “Also, I may occasionally masturbate to your speeches. So put on the fucking suit.”

Dany watched, sitting cross-legged in her towel, as Jon put on the fucking suit. _Perfect_. She wanted to rip it right off and eat the four thousand dollars for a new one. “I took detailed measurements,” she explained, proudly. “You were unconscious at the time, but I assure you, they were quite detailed.” She straightened his tie, and smiled mischievously. “If need be, we can also tailor a suit for your prostate.”

The fact that she sometimes did butt stuff to him in his sleep was old news. “Thank you, Daddy.”

 _Keep wearing that suit and calling me Daddy, and I’ll scrape your face off with my snatch, I swear it._ “Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” She yanked his tie way too tight, held it there, and stared. “ _Right?_ ”

“All yours.”

“All mine. Like everything you'll ever touch.” She fixed his tie and brushed some lint from his arms. “Now get some coffee, go to that fundraiser, and make Daddy proud.”

While Jon was off making Daddy proud, Daddy herself reminded the world why she was so dangerous. As expected, and hoped, Cersei Lannister’s many ‘scheduling conflicts’ prevented her from meeting Dany face-to-face. But Dany brushed off the snub, and used her time for more fruitful endeavors than idle threats from an aging Disney villain.

Her speech to the UN about the obsolescence of democracy yielded few cheers, many harshly worded statements, and endless media coverage. At first it was universally condemned, but consensus was bad for ratings. Within days, they’d found pundits willing to argue on her behalf, and others who refused to condemn her, Tyrion Lannister most notable among them.

Anderson Cooper grilled her on her beliefs and motives. She held her own, and flirted shamelessly, making even the gayest man in cable news blush, and disarming him entirely. She did softer interviews about her fashion sense, and tips for hosting parties, and her private memories of her father. She deadpanned viciously through a _Between Two Ferns_ interview with Zach Galifinakis, captioned as ‘Denise Tardashian, Lady Dictator.’

She spoke at Harvard, greeted by protesters, who hated her but couldn’t agree on why. She trampled her subjects’ civil liberties, but made abortion and birth control free to anyone, no questions asked. She’d let private corporations make billions rebuilding the country, but nationalized the oil industry. The protesters devolved into protesting each other, while the other students sat riveted in the lecture hall, eating from the palm of her hand. _Cersei has no idea how fucked she is._

Last on her itinerary was a reunion with her brother. She hadn’t seen Viserys in years, and she’d wanted to visit him at her family’s estate in Greenwich, but he begged her not to. _It’s probably crawling with prostitutes like a hoarder’s house with stray cats._ So they met at Rao’s in East Harlem; one of the few restaurants where her presence made the clientele only mildly curious.

Viserys seemed tense. _Coke, probably._ But cocaine made people ramble and brag, and he was doing neither. He barely spoke, in fact, and refused to look her in the eye. _Are you afraid to be alone at home with me?_ That made her mouth water. _You should be._ She wanted to ask him outright, but the elephants in the room would have stampeded.

After cold, awkward pleasantries, Dany cut to the chase. “We’ve gone far too long without speaking.” She smiled, for the flashbulbs bursting endlessly through the window. “We’re adults. We deserve a fresh start, both of us. Come to Baghdad with me, just for a week.” The man had nothing on his calendar—ever—so of course, he agreed.

They left from JFK the next afternoon on the royal jet, a black Boeing 787 Dany had left in the most conspicuous spot on the tarmac, conditioning the world to associate her with a massive black phallus that parks where it wants. Unable to function without chemicals, Viserys asked for some wine before they’d even left, to help him sleep through the overnight flight. Dany gestured her command to Missandei, who brought the dumbass his roofied wine, and that was that.

She awoke a few days later, on the morning of the Iowa caucuses, in the residence she’d occupied before she rose to power. The Royal Palace was nice and all, but the rape room at her old place was cozier and more intimate, and the relative simplicity of the house would come in handy later.

As she’d been doing almost obsessively since her night with Jon, Dany immediately sat up and felt her breasts. _Sore. Tender. Please mean what I think that means._ She could think of no other explanation, but decided not to jinx it. _Take the test later. Do the other thing first._ The other thing was important for many reasons, not the least of which that she’d finally be able to allow herself a fucking orgasm, after a week of remarkable self-restraint. She had her slaves dress her in a set of [pink Kate Spade short pajamas](https://imgur.com/a/wJBRUry), and just to be ironic, a pair of cheap, terrible [bunny slippers](https://imgur.com/a/HPsBwzr). They made her look like a child, which was precisely the point.

Once dressed, she ambled lazily down to the kitchen, retrieved the carrying case for her Global knife set, and unrolled it on the counter. _No espresso anymore._ Not if there was even the slightest possibility. No alcohol, or weed, or cigarettes, either. _If they think I’m a bitch now..._ She took her bread knife and carving fork from the knife block, and placed them neatly in the case. Then the kitchen shears, then the paring knife, then the ten-inch, diamond-coated sharpening rod. She pulled a headband with an LED flashlight from the drawer and slid it around her head, popped in some silicone earplugs, and opened the basement door.

Viserys was downstairs, naked and in pitch darkness, strapped thoroughly to a modified version of her company’s state-of-the-art [lethal injection chair](https://imgur.com/a/C5PLtfs), with a remote control to adjust the height and tilt. She descended the stairs as quietly as she could. Before she reached the bottom, she went through her phone and started the video on the TV that filled his field of view.

The Targaryens were unapologetic Yankee fans, as the team’s approach to baseball matched the family's approach to life; to deny the competition a fair fight by spending impossible sums of money. So to bring her brother’s mind back to his teenage years, she set the little montage she’d made to Enter Sandman, which they would play whenever his favorite pitcher Mariano Rivera took the field at Yankee Stadium.

The video itself was a mash-up of [Metallica’s 1991 music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD-E-LDc384), spliced news clips of protestors pelting Viserys with eggs on his way to school, burning their father in effigy outside the White House gates, and other acts of defiance that still enraged and deeply wounded him. Most disturbing, however, were the home movies from their childhood that had never been made public, and wisely so, as they would not have helped the family's image: Viserys putting Dany in a headlock on Christmas morning before she could open her presents, tackling her on the South Lawn the instant she picked up a football out of idle curiosity, throwing her in the pool at their estate in Greenwich.

Where she could, she cropped, and zoomed, and slowed them down, to make abundantly clear why she hadn't simply written this off as her older brother being an asshole kid. She let the shot linger on how he'd force her to wrap her legs around his waist in the pool, or grind against her ass before he let her off the ground, or let his hand slip between her thighs as she struggled to escape his grip. Or the shit-eating grin on his face as he pushed her into a tent on a camping trip and zipped it shut.

 _All while our dear father did nothing._ She often wondered if he was in denial about what was happening, or if he actually condoned it. Aerys was a master of self-delusion, but even he couldn’t be that oblivious.

Dany approached, but stayed in the darkness as the video played; the music piercingly loud. Viserys groaned and squinted, and spasmed from the sudden weight of Dany unfurling the bag of knives on his stomach. But she said nothing, preferring to let the terror eat him from the inside.

She grabbed the paring knife with one hand, and the shears with the other. Taking care to stay in the shadows, Dany took his thumb and slid the blade under the nail, watching under the flashlight until she saw blood pooling. She did the same to each finger, slowly and methodically, then snipped the skin between them with the shears.

 _You’re actually doing this,_ Dany reminded herself as her brother screamed and shook violently, her pulsing clit knocking her out of the strange, twisted serenity she'd slipped into. _Finally_.

With one hand done, she did the same to the other, then to his feet. She licked the blade and tucked it into her cute little PJ bottoms, then put the shears neatly back in the bag, switching them out for the sharpening rod. It took effort to get the damn thing up his ass without lube. She had to use both hands, and twist, and put her weight into it. _Oops_.

Her brother’s screams drowned out the music as the song faded. Dany removed the earplugs and set her bag down on the floor. _Smart not to gag him._ Viserys sounded like a toddler who’d been stung by a bee, but louder, and more pathetic. She got the remote control for the chair, her taser and cattle prod, and her trusty Viagra funnel, then came back, turned on the blinding fluorescent lights, and threw the TV up to the ceiling by its hydraulic arm. Wordlessly, and in spite of his thrashing and gagging, she gave the boy his medicine.

It would take a few minutes for the sobbing to die down, and the pills to kick in, so Dany rolled a chair right in front of him, tilted him with the remote until he was a bit more than halfway upright, then tucked it into her shirt pocket and slid her hand down her pants. Her cunt was already flooded, which she hadn’t even noticed until now. She gasped and bit her lip, wrapping her feet around the legs of the chair to steady herself. _Are you enjoying the view? Your baby sister, all grown up? Your little whore in her jammies?_

This was normally the part where her conscience kicked in, begging her not to unleash the monster. With other men, even shitbags like Kraznys, she’d always held herself back. She’d killed before, but always for work; to shut someone up, or mete out justice, or make a point. Never for personal satisfaction alone, until now. _He brought this monster upon himself. He created it. Now he'll feed it._

Dany didn’t _need_ to kill her brother, even after what he’d done to her. It was only a matter of time before he killed himself with drugs, anyway, and given how their lives had gone, it was clear that whatever power he’d once had over her was long gone. But if she was doomed to be a serial killer, she couldn’t think of a more appropriate first victim than her brother. _He’s the one who doomed me. And he’s still doing Borat impressions. That should be enough right there._

Fucked up as it was, though, the things he’d done were what made her so obsessed with living on her own terms, and making the world into what she thought it should be. And that obsession had already made her one of the most powerful human beings in history. _He still has to die. People like him don't do what he did to people like me, and live._

The more Dany thought about how satisfying this would be, the wetter she got. She watched him, silently save for tiny little moans of pleasure, long after his body exhausted itself from the pain. She brought herself to the edge, and almost went over, but stopped at the last second. _No. You’ve denied yourself since New York. Do this with a fresh clit, and a chip on your shoulder._ She took her hand out from her shorts and licked her fingers, lowering Viserys's chair as close to the floor as it got, but keeping him nearly upright.

“I assume you know why you’re here,” Dany began, as soon as his eyes adjusted, “and that this won’t end well for you.”

Viserys tried to look around, though the strap across his forehead made that rather difficult “Where am I?” The words came out slow, and barely audible.

“EPCOT Center. A charming Tuscan villa. The North Tower.” She picked up the taser and launched the electrodes straight into his chest, as casually as she’d flip through the channels on a TV. “ _Fuck_ where you are!” She shouted over his screams. “Tell me why you’re here! I want to hear you say it!”

That was too much to ask, it seemed. All she got were convulsions and fear. He’s gone his whole life pretending it didn’t happen. Few things got under Dany’s skin anymore, but that did.

She stood, dug the prod into the side of his neck, and loosed the voltage, sending him once again into a long, screaming spasm. _More_. She squeezed again and closed her eyes, smiling to herself as her brother pleaded for mercy. _Stop. Drag it out._ “If it wasn’t obvious, I’m not afraid of you anymore.” She eyed him with hate and disgust.

“Please...Dany...We were kids…”

“Exactly. We were kids.” She let that hang there for a minute.

“I’m sorry! Dany, please! I never meant to—”

She cut him off. “You know precisely what you meant to do. But I don’t think you understand what happened instead.”

“Dany, come on, let me go. We can talk about this.”

Dany grabbed his fingers. “Oh, can we? I thought you said we could never talk about it. I thought it was our secret. I thought you’d kill me if I told a soul.” She grabbed his middle finger and drew her paring knife. “I thought that’s why you waited until I was asleep to put these fingers where you did.”

“ _STOP!! STOP!! STOP!!_ ”

“Nah.” She cut a nice clean gash on his fingertip, and sucked the blood into her mouth. It tasted far better than most. _Pathetic as he is, it’s royal blood. My blood._ “I’m curious. Did it ever occur to you that everything I’ve done is one massive attempt to get back at you? To reclaim the power you robbed from me?”

“Yes! Yes, I thought of that! Dany, please! I’m sorry!” Tears streamed down his face; tears she’d waited years to see. _Necessary, but not sufficient,_ she thought, excreting some fluids of her own.

“Bullshit.” She spat in his face. “If you were sorry, you would have said something. You would have _done_ something.”

“You’re right. I’m a piece of shit. Are you happy now?! I’m a piece of shit!”

 _I’m still speaking_. “The world hasn’t seen the half of it, you know.” She squeezed the cattle prod again, on his inner thigh, right next to his balls. “Have you wondered what happens when you take an innocent little girl, and turn sex, power, fear, and pain into one big ball of awful in her mind? Do you know what you’ve made me do to people? Guilty people, innocent people, people I _love?!_ ”

“No,” he admitted, once the shock dissipated. His tone was defeated; drained. _This is fun._ “I don’t know, all I did was—”

 _‘All you did?!’_ Part of her wanted to skip the torture and kill him already, just to get him out of her presence. “All you did was what!”

“I got—I was a teenager, I didn’t know what I was doing. I got handsy.” Every word was weaker than the last. _Oh, you got more than handsy._

“You could have gotten handsy with yourself, you know. Like a normal teenager. Or with a girl your own age, who actually wanted you.” _Though in fairness, nobody has ever wanted you_.

“I’m sorry! Please, I’ll make it up to you, just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it!”

Dany ignored that entirely. “Everything I’ve done in my life is a futile attempt to fill the hole you made. It will never be enough. Even when I’m done with you. Even when I take what’s mine.”

Viserys squirmed. “What are you going to do to me?”

Dany smiled. Viserys cowered. “Maybe I’ll kill you. Maybe I’ll give you what you’ve always wanted” She stood on her toes, took his face in her hands, and kissed him softly on the lips.

“No, no, I’m not that person anymore,” her brother insisted. “Get the fuck away from me.” He tried to turn his head away, but she pulled him back and kissed deeper, to prove her point.

A hand wandered toward his cock. “I wasn’t ‘that person’ either, when I was _nine_ , but that didn’t stop you, did it? And I’m totally ‘that person’ now, so why should I let it stop me?”

Viserys closed his eyes, as Dany felt his cock grow in her hand. She watched his body writhe, following her lead. _But I thought you didn’t want this…_ She thought back to all those times he’d force himself inside her, as she tried in vain to resist the inevitable. How she’d get wet despite her shame and disgust, as her body tried to make the pain bearable. How he’d laugh and tell her she secretly liked it, which only made her more ashamed; more disgusted.

He exhaled, loud and deep, letting a gasp of pleasure slip out as he took another breath.

“You always wanted this,” she told him, as the lust flooded her own voice. “Do you really think I didn’t notice when my panties went missing? Do you still have them? Do you still jerk off with them?” She dropped to her knees and looked up. “You were _obsessed_ with me.”

He looked down, as her knees hit the floor. “No…”

 _Right._ Dany only smiled, and kissed up his shaft. “You still are,” she said softly, looking into his eyes. “How many thousands of dollars have you paid women to suck your cock, while this very image went through your mind?” She slipped the head between her lips, then dragged them back down to the tip. “You don’t even know, do you?”

“Jesus Christ…” his voice shook.

 _‘Jesus saves,_ ’ Dany had heard. _But Jesus won’t save you, now. He won’t even try, if he knows what’s good for him._ She rolled her tongue around the tip again. “Oh, you like that? I’ve gotten quite good at this. I had to. For a while, I thought it was all I was good for.” Another set of kisses up his shaft, then back down.

“Dany, come on,” Viserys insisted over shallow breaths. “I mean it, I didn’t—”

She took him in and sucked. All the way in, like she’d trained herself as a teenager, in a misguided hope that the fleeting approval of the nearest boy would cure the pain. _That shut him up,_ Dany gloated to herself, as her tongue and his cock got reacquainted. It surprised her how easy it was. _Muscle memory._ But it was different, this time. The spots he liked weren’t boxes to check so he’d let her go back to sleep. They were weaknesses. _You wish you’d never shown me your weaknesses, don’t you?_

Dany hated her brother’s cock, and wouldn’t have loved it, even if it were attached to someone less odious. It was smaller than average, but still enough to hurt her as a child. And it was thin, and crooked, and weird-looking. But she’d seen worse, and the revulsion was a small price to pay for the satisfaction of watching him fight the urge to give in, knowing that to give in was to sign his own death warrant. _You asked for this. You made me do this, even when you knew I hated it. You thought I’d learn to like it. So here I am, loving it, and we haven’t even gotten to the good part._ She looked up at her brother, her eyes filled with an exaggerated, sarcastic desperation, like the naive little girl she’d once been.

Viserys seemed not to know what to think, which Dany supposed was par for the course. _You're a prisoner in my fucking basement. Do you really think I care if you like the blow job?_ That honor was reserved for one man. _And he’s too good to share a planet with you._

She moaned as she sucked, and found herself teasing her clit. She looked up again, then moved down a bit and drew figure 8’s with the tip of her tongue on his balls. “Maybe I’ll rip them open with my teeth,” Dany whispered, just to fuck with him. She wrapped her fist around them. “And squeeze the blood out, like a ketchup packet.” She congratulated herself for remembering that common people ate ketchup, sometimes served in packets.

Viserys whimpered, like a beaten dog, which made Dany actually want his cock in her mouth for the first time in her life. She opened her throat took him all the way back in, pushing the sharpening rod deeper, twisting, looking up and watching him squirm like a bitch. _Oh, it hurts?_ She pushed it deeper. _You did this to me, every chance you got, for five fucking years._ He would have kept going, had he not left for college. _Pity I’ll kill you before you learn what it’s like to hide the pain when you walk or sit down_.

She pulled the handle around, searching for his prostate, determined to make him come, no matter how badly he hated it. _The human body is a funny thing, isn’t it? Always one step ahead of the mind._ Her brother’s cock twitched in her mouth, and his moans grew higher in pitch, as she found the spot and dragged the rod back and forth.

It happened quick, but that was a good thing. Dany’s thighs were soaked; her pussy ached; her mind demanded she move on to the good part. Viserys shuddered, moaned in the self-loathing ecstasy of a man being raped in the ass by an expert, and emptied himself into her mouth. _Ew._ His blood may have been delicious, but his come had always been gross. Stale and salty, like a day-old Dorito. She stood again, kissed him, and forced his load into his mouth.

“Swallow it,” Dany growled as she broke the kiss, whipping out the paring knife and holding it over his throat. Viserys fidgeted. “ _Swallow it!_ ” Repulsed, he obeyed, if only to save his life.

Dany went to the sink for some Listerine, using the remote to tilt the chair until her brother lay flat on his back again, inches from the floor. He groaned, like he had a terrible hangover.

She rummaged through the drawers, swishing the mouthwash; looking for her toys, but finding chaos. _I was far too nice to the man-whore._ Unable to concentrate, she hurried over and spat into the sink.“That man was raised in a barn, I swear,” she announced, mostly to herself.

“Who…” Viserys asked, exhausted.

“Some idiot I used to fuck. Doesn’t matter,” Dany smiled. “Jon Snow murdered him at my command, because I felt like it.”

“...Jon Snow killed someone?”

Dany found her bicycle chain, coiled it around her fist, and made her way back to her brother. “Mhm! The Jon Snow,” she answered, proudly. “Between rounds of passionate lovemaking. Should I tell you the story before I kill you?”

Her brother’s eyes widened. He seemed surprised that his death had gone from likely to inevitable; like she was supposed to consult him first; like she hadn’t made that decision years ago. _Toy with that._

“No, Dany, you can’t, _please_ , I just want—”

 _I don’t care what you want._ “Fine, I’ll make you a deal,” Dany lied, wrapping the bicycle chain around his cock and balls. She slid her pants off, got her cattle prod again, and moved to his head. “Show me you’ve learned how to use your tongue in the last twenty years,” she went on, raising the chair until she could rest her pussy comfortably on her brother’s face, “and I’ll let you live. I’m serious.”

She wasn’t remotely serious. _Doesn’t matter, he’ll be terrible regardless._ Even as an unwilling child, Dany knew Viserys hadn't a clue how to eat a pussy. She suspected wasn’t mere teenage ineptitude, either. In all likelihood, Viserys honestly thought he’d been awesome at it from Day One, and never bothered asking anyone who would know. _Or risk a client by telling the truth_.

Dany relaxed her knees and lowered herself onto that warm, filthy mouth of his. She took one end of the bicycle chain in each hand, and pulled them apart. “ _Do it!_ ”

Viserys screamed, sending a frenzied vibration through Dany’s body. _Fuck yes_. Her knees went weak, and her back arched. _Again!_ His balls bulged, and turned purple; his scream tinged with genuine fear that he’d lose them. _Maybe he should,_ she thought, for a second. _No, he’d pass out from the pain. That’s mercy. Mercy is out of the question._

“Your screams make me tingle,” she teased, flirtatiously, before letting her voice drop into something much darker. “That’s cheating.” She loosened the chain and held both ends with one hand, pressing the cattle prod against his nipple with the other. “Use your tongue, like a man!”

Viserys went to work. _Nope, still no clue_. He seemed not to know her clit even existed, much less what to do with it. _You literally can’t eat pussy to save your life._ She abandoned his tongue and dragged herself against his chin, but his skin lacked even a hint of stubble, even after days in captivity. _You really are a hopeless disappointment, aren’t you?_ She adjusted herself and squeezed the chain tighter again, and settled for the buzz of his terror coursing through her.

“No no, no, no, _NO!!_ ” Viserys screamed, as Dany let him breathe. “No, Dany, _PLEASE_ , no!” The screams melted to sobs again.

 _He has yet to call me by my title_. Dany felt a blinding mix of rage, lust, and power; strong enough to overwhelm even a woman who rarely felt anything else. _Fuck it. I’m not the Queen. I’m the Angel of Death._

“‘No?! Please?!’ That’s what I said to you for _FIVE FUCKING YEARS!!_ Do you think I have _any_ sympathy for you?!” She jerked the chain, but somehow mustered the wherewithal to loosen the chain, just long enough to let him answer.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He shouted, his words distorted by a nose full of snot. “I want to make it better! Dany, please! Let’s talk about it! Let’s—”

 _We are talking about it_. “Fuck you.” She pressed herself back down on his face, and tightened the chain again. “Eat your sister’s pussy. Eat it until I’m wet enough to forget how disgusting you are when I rape you!” She snapped the chains like the reins of a dogsled, and pulled again. “More!”

And he gave her more. Poorly, but well enough to bring her closer, when combined with his fear and agony. _You’re sealing your own fate._ Dany found that incredibly hot. She moved herself down to his chin again, to avoid his teeth, then plunged the cattle prod onto his throat, just above his sternum, and pulled the trigger. Viserys screeched and flopped like a fish in a net. _More_. Again, over his breastbone, then another on his belly button. _Now stop_. Dany stood and stepped back. She tossed the cattle prod aside, freed him from the chain, and reeled it back in, making a loop in one hand, about a foot long when it dangled straight down.

“I’m bored, now.” She smacked him across the face with the chain. “That’s bad for you.” She hit him again, and again, and again, in rapid succession, not letting him speak, because speaking time was over.

Viserys grunted, and tried to put his hand to his face. _No one cares about your broken cheekbone._

“Are you ready?!” Dany asked, waling on his face until it was good and bloody. “Are you?!” She flogged his chest and ribs until they bled everywhere the chain struck, as she made her way to her bag of knives on the floor. “Are your affairs in order?” She snapped her wrist and struck him in the balls, and again, while his cock stayed hopelessly hard. “Do you have a will?” She had to shout over his sustained screaming. “Does it leave everything to me?” Lower, on his thighs. “Or is some cam girl about to be set for life?” A few more times, on the soles of his feet.

Dany tossed the chain over her shoulder and squatted by the bag of knives. “Don’t answer. I don’t give a shit, and I’m sick of hearing your voice.” She grabbed the bread knife and carving fork, and set them on either side of her brother’s head. “Yes,” she smiled, “that’s what I’m going to kill you with.” Her pussy screaming at her to get on with it, she hopped onto the table and mounted him. “Now give me your sad fucking cock, and let’s do this.”

Viserys babbled frantic, sobbing pleas for his life, through swollen, quivering lips, as Dany felt him slide into her for the last time. _So glad I don’t need a condom_ , she thought, already assuming the soreness in her breasts meant what she hoped. _Murder is much more intimate when it’s skin on skin._ She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him as anyone else, but failed. For all she’d done to Jon, she refused to defile him by conflating him with this waste of flesh, even in her mind. Nor could he pass as Daario, unless Daario had lost half his cock.

 _Are you nuts?! Open your eyes! Savor this!_ But this was her brother; the man who had tortured and repulsed her all through her childhood. _Exactly!_ She opened her eyes and looked down, her stare piercing right through his tears, drinking in his terror, watching him race through the stages of grief for his own death. _Are you really that surprised? Did you really not think it would end like this? Did you think I’d stay afraid of you forever?_

It dawned on her that the answer was yes, he really was that surprised, and no, this never did cross his mind; that this man’s entire raison d’être was to get his dick wet through the path of least resistance. _Does it feel good, though? As good as you remember?_ The pleasure built up inside her as she kept her eyes on his face. _Yes, I really do hate you that much._

“ _Thank me_ ,” she snarled, panting. “Thank me for letting you feel this one more time before you die.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, like the weak, doomed bitch he was.

Dany had made people thank her for all sorts of things. She loved the grudging, disgusted way they said it the first time, almost as much as she loved raping them until their souls were so thoroughly shredded that they actually liked it. But her brother’s tone carried neither revulsion nor the dumb, debased bliss of a man crushed to oblivion. His was sincere, but detached. Like he knew what was happening and had simply given up fighting; like the gazelle who knew the lion wouldn’t suddenly let go of his throat. _That’s it. Just lie down in the grass, while I butcher you._

Just to fuck with him, she began to moan. Loudly. Far more loudly than called for. Almost comically loud, like a B-list hooker, overcompensating for her utter indifference. _In other words, every other woman he’s ever fucked._

Each moan was more theatrical than the last. Dany looked down and smiled, keeping up the act, laughing to herself at the glimmer of pride and excitement in her brother’s eyes, even now. She threw her head back and screamed, thrusting herself down on him, marveling at how completely this man must have deluded himself, to believe his cock could make any woman feel that good. She thought about a kegel or two, to feign a climax, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. _He’s never felt a real woman’s orgasm in his life, why start now?_

She sped up, let out a few empty screams, and slowed down, pretending to catch her breath. “You’ve gotten good,” she declared, to the man with the involuntary erection, strapped to a gurney.

Somehow, he was just as breathless. _From what?_ “Please...please…”

 _Cute, you think there’s hope, now._ Dany kept up a slow, deliberate pace, and smiled. “Please, _what?_ ” She stroked his cheek, like she was considering it.

“Please...let me live. I’ll be your slave. Is that what you want? Do whatever you want to me, whenever you want, just _please_ don’t kill me.”

 _You think I’d waste twenty bucks on a dog collar for you?_ “Because you made me come?” Dany asked, pretending to actually consider it.

Viserys nodded, as her clit began to pulse in anticipation. “ _Please…_ ”

She leaned down, reached for the carving fork, and whispered softly into his ear. “Is that really what you think that was?”

Before he could react, she grabbed the fork, and plunged the sharp points into his eyes, gripping it with both hands, driving it down until the root touched the bridge of his nose.

Viserys thrashed uncontrollably, and burst into the most horrible, beautiful scream Dany had ever heard. She held the fork in place with one hand, and went straight to her clit with the other. Blood poured from his eye sockets, and his cock shriveled and slipped out of her. _He’ll never be inside me again._ She bit her lip, as her fingers grew saturated, and her clit twitched and throbbed like nothing had ever done to her before. She moaned, deep and genuine, and felt her body tense up.

With his cock useless, and her body hurtling toward the falls, Dany adjusted herself and clenched his leg between her thighs, humping it like a feral dog, grabbing the sharpening rod and shoving it as far up as it would go, no longer concerned with making him bleed, inside or out. For a moment, she simply thrusted away and watched, as Viserys started his slow, grueling, inexorable change from a man to a corpse. _And I did it._

Before she knew it, Dany’s mouth flew open, she screamed, louder with each breath she drew, almost as twisted and inhuman as her brother, like her body was mocking his agony.

Viserys’s leg was getting slippery, and Dany felt herself get closer by the second. _Now. Do it._ She grabbed the bread knife, pressed it against his throat, and dragged. _YES!_ Her screams changed from pleasure to exertion to rage, then to an ecstasy more visceral and transcendent than any orgasm could bring her.

Her brother gagged and gurgled, as his neck turned to a red, gushing mess. A sudden, ravenous thirst came over her, and Dany thrust her face down to his throat, tearing into him with her teeth. _Yes, yes, yes, DIE, you piece of shit, YES!!_

She thrust herself against his body as it grew weaker by the second, dragging the knife back and forth like a violin bow. People had called Dany a predator for years, for all sorts of reasons, but never had it felt so true. _Top of the fucking food chain, where I FUCKING belong._ The sound she made as her head flew back was part scream, part grunt, part gut-wrenching sob, and more than the sum of all three.

Her body went limp just as his did. With her last bit of strength, Dany pulled the fork out and plunged it back in, over and over, until she had nothing left. She climbed down, leaning against the chair to steady herself; sore, tingly, and wobbly, like she’d just been fucked by someone competent. _Holy shit, that felt good._ She staggered to the mirror and studied her reflection with as clear a conscience as she’d ever felt; bloody mouth and crazy eyes notwithstanding. _You may be guilty of many crimes,_ she thought, as she washed up, _but that wasn’t one of them._

Next on Dany’s calendar, once she’d returned to Earth, was an interview with a potential ’New Daario.' The man’s name was Bronn, formerly of Blackwater USA, the company from which she’d stolen her ‘trick America into raising your own private army’ idea. After Dany squeezed them out of business, Bronn did a stint guarding Tyrion in the Diplomatic Security Service, from whence he came highly recommended as an amoral, greed-driven murderer.

From the rape room closet, Dany donned what she considered a [simple blazer](https://www.net-a-porter.com/product/915873) over a ‘Targaryen Security Solutions Company Retreat 2011’ t-shirt, [skinny jeans](https://www.rag-bone.com/womens/jeans/skinny-W1502K520LAP.html?cgid=women-jeans&categoryfrom=women#start=1), and black low-top Chuck Taylors. Assuming Tyrion had told Bronn to expect the Throne Room, she decided to throw him off a bit, and texted for Missandei to bring him to her kitchen table. And assuming he expected a gender studies lecture from an imperious cunt with a human being on a leash, she decided to be disconcertingly modest. _To start, at least._

Bronn and Missandei were waiting when she got upstairs. Her slave dropped swiftly to one knee. _Should have looped her in on the modesty bit._ Bronn half-stood, to go through the motions.

“Don’t get up!” Dany stuck her hand out and shook, delicately, like she totally hadn’t just felt the orgasm of a lifetime while raping and murdering her brother. “Daenerys Targaryen, pleasure to meet you. I’ll be with you in one moment.”

Bronn shook back, confused.

Dany tossed her bloody pajamas to the floor in front of Missandei, still kneeling. “Burn those, and issue a statement. During my brother’s visit, it became clear he’s in desperate need of substance abuse treatment. At my suggestion, he entered an inpatient program at an undisclosed location. Please respect my family’s privacy during this difficult time.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Bronn looked at the pajamas, then at her, sideways again. Dany flashed him a smirk.

“And I’ll need a large freezer, a Gulfstream 650, and an unmarked cargo ship, rigged for an anti-aircraft missile.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the door.

“As Your Majesty commands.” Missandei took the pajamas, stood, bowed, and left.

Dany gave Bronn a subtle once-over. He looked vaguely like Daario, with a decade of wear and tear that dampened the attraction. She grinned sheepishly, taking another crack at modesty. “Sorry about that. And for looking so disheveled.”

“Meh.” He gave no fucks that she was royalty. _That’s oddly refreshing._ He was dressed basically the same, with slightly nicer shoes.

Dany grabbed her iPad, sat, and skimmed his résumé. “It says you’re a ‘tech entrepreneur.’” _And I’m a point guard for the Knicks._ “Care to elaborate?”

“I tried to make this app,” Bronn explained, “called Poopsnap. Like Snapchat, but if there’s a bathroom wall behind you, it would change the background. Eiffel Tower, Mount Fuji, shit like that, so it’s not obvious you're taking a dump.”

 _But why else would you use an app called Poopsnap?_ She stopped herself. _Focus_. “Didn’t take off, I gather?”

“Nope.”

 _At least he’s honest_. “Why do you want this job?”

“I’m good at killing people, and I like money. You need people killed, and you're loaded. Perfect match, really.”

Dany noticed his accent. _South Boston. Makes total sense, now._ “Good answer.” _Though second-round interviews are always tougher. She stood and made for the basement_. “Come with me.” At the landing, she gestured toward Viserys’s corpse; knife, fork, and sharpening rod still planted firmly inside him. “In case you think I can’t get my hands dirty…”

Bronn startled, but recovered nicely. “Didn’t know Jeffrey Dahmer had a buffet.”

Dany fancied herself more ‘Dexter meets Cleopatra,’ but she allowed it. “That’s my brother. He’s in rehab. Tell anyone otherwise, and you'll be in rehab, too.”

“Oh, believe me,” he laughed, “that fucker's in rehab.”

 _Another good answer._ “Do you care what I'm doing or why?”

“Probably not, but go on.”

”There’s a fake Churchill quote, ‘Americans do what’s right, when they’ve exhausted the alternatives.’ I’m exhausting their alternatives. All I want in return is to be worshipped as the living deity I am, and to occasionally torture and kill some people to make my pussy tingle.”

“Figured it was something like that,” he answered flatly.

“People say that’s terrible,” she continued, leading him back upstairs, "but how many thousands were tortured and killed in senseless feuds when Cersei Lannister ‘liberated’ my subjects? How many million Americans die because their government can’t get off its ass and fix its embarrassment of a healthcare system? I’ll kill how many for no good reason? A few dozen? That's a bargain, no?”

“You’ll pay me half a million dollars a year to stand there while you do all that?”

“Starting base.”

“Best bargain ever.”

They sat back down at the kitchen table. “To be clear, though,” Dany warned, "you’ll never fuck me.”

Bronn cleared his throat. “When a drone bee fucks the queen, his dick explodes and he dies. I’ll pass.”

 _Note to self: reincarnate as a bee_. For shits, Dany asked the most asinine interview question she knew. “What’s your spirit animal?”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s racist.”

 _Is he serious?_ His face was inscrutable. _Fuck. He might be part Cherokee. Shit._ She liked this man, but not enough for a million-dollar settlement in the States. Fuck it. “Let’s get you a uniform.”

After the formalities, and a few hours of actually governing, the Queen bounded up to the master bathroom of her residence, tore open the wrapper of a pregnancy test with her teeth, and got to work. The slaves in her bedroom knew what she was doing in there, and cowered when she emerged.

In a trance, Dany marched slowly toward Drape Girl, motioning for her to stand. She stood, stepped back, and hit the wall, quivering. _Did I say you could walk?_ But it didn’t matter. The girl could have given her the finger and backflipped out of the room, and Dany would have forgiven it. _Even I can’t torture you when I’m this happy._ She could, however, reach through the robe, plant a hand firmly on her slave’s mound, tease her clit with her middle finger, and plant a deep, loving kiss on her mouth. _Though you’re still my property, of course._

“Ssh,” Dany whispered, their lips still touching. She wiped a tear from Drape Girl’s face with one hand, and slid two fingers into her with the other. “Take the night off.”

Drape Girl looked back at her master, confused and terrified. _Does she even know that phrase?_ Dany switched to Arabic. “Missandei will take you to the Royal Palace. Do whatever you want there. Sleep in my bed, eat my food, wear my clothes. Anything. Get drunk on the roof and pretend you’re anywhere else. I don’t care!” They kissed again. Dany felt tears of her own, of joy, for the life she’d created and the one she’d purged from the world. She wanted to call Jon immediately. _No. Mindfuck him with it. You’re still you, after all._ She set her alarm for 4:00 AM, and slipped into a deep nap.

The caucuses started at 4:30; 7:30 at night in Iowa. Dany woke to find Drape Girl sleeping on the floor next to her; living proof that freedom couldn’t hold a candle to her tyranny. She kicked her slave awake, and let her curl up on the bed with her head in Dany's lap, like a cat.

CNN called the state for Jon early, which foretold an impressive margin, and at least a week’s worth of news stories about his ‘momentum.’ The minute Margaery Tyrell began her concession speech, Dany grabbed her phone and instructed Siri to dial “The Pretty One.”

“Yeah, hello?” The voice on the line wasn't Jon, but Dany wasn’t surprised.

“Samwell Tarly?” Sam had been pushing Jon to run for President since before he met Dany, and Jon refused to run unless Sam managed his campaign. _And I'm the sadist._

“Speaking.” Sam sounded annoyed, but he was probably fielding hundreds of calls, so Dany forgave it.

“This is Daenerys Targaryen for the Senator.”

Sam paused, sighed, and yelled away from the mic. “Who leaked his number?! He's getting prank—”

“'Tell him to wear the purple tie!” She shouted, loud enough to keep him from hanging up. “The Zegna. He knows which one.”

“What?”

“Think, Mr. Tarly. If there’s even the slightest chance that your boss’s relationship with Daenerys Targaryen involves her _picking out his ties_ , isn’t it your duty to at least ask?”

Sam went quiet again. “I gotta go.” _Yeah, you do._

A few more minutes went by. Margaery blathered on about how this wasn’t really a loss, and there were forty-nine states to go, and how excited she was to take her message to New Hampshire. Dany smiled, recalling Dave Chappelle’s Howard Dean impression. _‘I love lesbians...BYAAAAAH!’_ She scratched Drape Girl under the chin.

The instant Margaery finished, the cameras cut to Jon at his own podium, looking solemn and dutiful, with just a hint of that fuckable smile of his, quieting his raucous crowd through a blizzard of white confetti. _Because ‘Snow.’_ Dany rolled her eyes. _He’ll take my name. No puns._ When the confetti died down, she saw the tie. _Mmm._

The image of Jon in that fucking suit, and thought of the chaos that must be raging backstage made Dany instantly wet again. She pushed Drape Girl’s head between her thighs, opened her text messages, and launched another chaos grenade at Samwell Tarly. _’Good boy.’_ She smirked. _'Now tell him I’m pregnant.’_


	7. Jon III

_Her Majesty has given me another day,_ Jon thought, as Sam opened the window shade in the row behind him. At most, he'd gotten three hours of sleep on his overnight flight from Denver to Miami. But it was Super Tuesday, when more than a dozen states would hold their primaries, and Jon had almost forgotten what a proper night’s sleep felt like.

Iowa was a wake-up call for Margaery Tyrell, and she'd been ruthless ever since. She'd won New Hampshire to stop the bleeding, and clawed her way into a stalemate in the delegate count. Jon, according to the attack ads, was at best a mediocre soldier, and a political neophyte; impulsive and malleable; the puppet of other people. ‘Dangerous people, who want to undermine this great country of ours,’ as Margaery would say on the stump. Everyone knew what she meant.

Jon tried not to fan the flames of innuendo that had raged ever since the rescue. He hadn’t seen her since that secret night in New York, nearly three months prior. When asked about her, he’d respond with a healthy dose of stern rhetoric, to prove that he could still play hardball with her, even though she’d saved his life. _She didn’t save my life,_ he had to remind himself, having repeated the lie so many times that he'd started believe it. _She re-made it._ And that was a much greater gift.

But rhetoric only got him so far. He’d been rescued by a woman, and his opponent--also a woman, according to the latest polls--claimed that made him vulnerable to Dany’s feminine wiles. That was bullshit, of course. Dany never used her beauty to seduce men into doing her bidding. _Only to lure you into the basement. Then she drugs you, then she rapes you until your soul bleeds out of your ass, then she threatens to melt your face off with a blowtorch,_ then _you do her bidding._

Jon couldn’t remember when that wasn't a simple fact of life, like blue sky and green grass. _Classic Stockholm Syndrome._ He knew that, but didn’t care. Not after what he’d seen her do with that torch. _Anyone who saw that would be honored to serve her._

For now, he served by playing the politician. Only Sam knew about the pregnancy. He freaked out when he learned of it, but that was trivial compared to the shitstorm that would follow the public announcement. They'd delayed that, on the tenuous logic that most people don't announce pregnancies until after the first trimester. But most people don't knock up insane, tyrannical monarchs while they're running for president, and the first trimester was almost over.

Jon knew the news would undermine his reputation for trustworthiness, which had been his greatest strength during the campaign, and drew people to him from Margaery, whom he’d painted as little more than a prettier version of Cersei Lannister. _‘Though you’re prettier than both of them,’_ Dany had texted him one night, followed by emojis of water droplets, a queen, and a gun pointed at a smiley face with its tongue out. _God, I miss her._ And ‘gunnilingus,’ as she called it.

They landed, and descended the stairs to the tarmac, wading through thick, humid air, that smelled like jet fuel. Sam scrolled through his phone as they walked toward their car. “Margaery Tyrell wants to meet one-on-one tomorrow,” he told Jon. “No matter how tonight goes.” It wouldn’t be hard to arrange; they were both spending election day in all-important Florida.

Jon nodded, but said nothing, and waved to a gaggle of press and onlookers a few hundred feet away. When they reached the car, he told the driver to wait outside for a minute, and closed the door. “Do you think she knows?” There was no need to clarify.

“She might,” Sam replied. “It would end the stalemate, for sure.”

He gestured for Sam to get out. “I need to make a phone call.”

Sam knew what that meant. “You can’t talk to her this much,” he warned. “If someone hacks your phone, it’ll look like--”

“She’s the mother of my child, I don’t care what it looks like.” He shooed Sam out, and dialed.

“You have no idea how wet I got when I saw the caller ID,” Her Majesty growled softly into the phone, before it even rang. “Seriously, it’s becoming a problem. The blue-balls are worse than the morning sickness.” Her ‘balls’ were anything but ‘blue.’ That’s what slaves were for. But she said she’d found them less satisfying recently.

“I wish I could--”

“I know you do,” Dany replied. “Tell Daddy why you called.”

“Margaery wants a meeting. I’m worried she might know.”

Dany sighed sweetly. “I’d punish you for worrying too much, but you’re so hot when you worry.”

“Sam thinks--”

“Who knows best, here?”

There was only one answer to that. “You do,” he answered softly, blushing to himself.

“Precisely. Meet with her in your hotel, and text me the room number.”

 _Room number?_ “Are you--”

“Run along, darling. Give your little speeches.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” he hung up, called Sam and the driver back into the car, and headed to his first rally of the morning.

The day itself was a blur, consisting mainly of the same speech over and over again, trite interviews, phone calls to beg douchebags for money, and people shouting in his ear about which of his policies pissed off whom, and how to fix it. When the votes came in, the stalemate remained, but Jon was too tired to decide how he felt about that, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He took it easy the next day, as there were no more primaries for a month, and he needed a day to maintain his sanity. Sam read him the  _New York Times_ while Jon lay on the couch in his suite, grunting along to Sam’s suggestions on how to react, and refusing to shower until late afternoon, when Margaery’s people called, to tell him she was on her way over.

A knock came, just as Jon had finished buttoning his shirt. He hid his nicotine gum under the sofa cushion, and answered the door.

“Jon,” Margaery smiled like they were best friends, and shook his hand like they’d just met. “So good to see you again.”

“Always a pleasure.” He gestured to the couch in the living room area. “Have a seat.” _‘Text me the room number.’_ He left the deadbolt unlocked, and said a silent prayer.

“I just wanted to check in with you, without all the staff and cameras around,” she explained as she sat on the couch.

 _And blackmail me?_ Jon sank into a chair a few feet away. “I appreciate that, but I don’t need checking in.”

“Elections can be grueling.” She answered, with fake concern. “Especially in states where there’s--you know--people.”

 _Oh, fuck you._ “So the people of Minnesota aren’t people?” Jon admired his comeback.

The door flung open, and Her Majesty's voice filled the room. “What have we here? Lincoln and Douglas?”

Jon took a knee as she entered, escorted by her new guard, and wearing simple gray track pants, sneakers, a Yankees cap, and a black wig, carrying a bag that cost about as much as Jon’s first car.

Dany sat in the chair across the coffee table from Jon and motioned to her guard, who flipped it to give her a better view. “Nose to the floor, silly,” she smiled.

Jon prostrated himself.

“Who are you?” Margaery asked.

Dany tossed the wig behind her, and let her hair down. “I flew coach, let's skip the titles.” She turned to Jon. “Rise.”

Jon obeyed. Margaery slid into a corner of the couch, like that would help her. “How did you get into this country?!”

Dany snickered. “I can print as many passports as I want. A perk of having no checks and balances.” She pointed to the guard. “This is Bronn, my platonic manservant.”

“Yo.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dany smirked, “and get the bedroom ready.” She crossed her legs, folded her hands on her knee, and turned to Margaery. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll drop out, endorse Jon, and serve out your term as governor. After that, we'll reevaluate. Sound good?”

“I don't understand.” Her voice was shaking.

“Of course you don’t, sweetie,” Dany replied, condescendingly. “But you’ll obey all the same.”

“No, I’ll tell--”

“Yeah, no.” She took out her phone, pulled up a photo of Daario's body, and showed it to her. “For one, you'll end up like him.” Margaery recoiled. Dany continued. “But more importantly,” she reached into her bag, drew a Taser, and fired.

Margaery screamed and tried to dodge, but the electrodes hit her in the chest before she could, sending her onto her back, thrashing and seizing on the couch. Dany removed her sneaker, and tossed Jon her [ pink New York Yankees ankle sock](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/f9/02/1a/f9021affd5aa5d045cf3e363b829c2b3--pink-tees-ankle-socks.jpg). “Help her acquire the taste.”

Jon nodded, pinned Margaery in place with a knee on the throat, and gagged her with the sock. Dany pulled her other shoe off, smiled at Jon, and flung her other sock in his face. “Good boy.”

He blushed. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Dany summoned Bronn, who hustled in with a cord of rope. “Deal with this,” she commanded, pointing at Margaery. “I need to catch up with the Senator.” The look she gave Jon as she grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bedroom was ravenous; just short of apologetic. She planted her mouth over his and kissed him, deep and wordlessly, then broke it off, pressing her forehead against his and growling in a low, menacing whisper. “Get your dopey, gorgeous ass in that bed.” She pushed him onto the mattress.

Jon felt her hands grip just below the collar of his button-down, as his own hands went up her thighs, to her ass, then to her waist. Dany tugged, tearing open his shirt buttons. Her hips were already grinding, as her hands made short work of the buttons, and moved to his belt.

“And get these _fucking_ clothes out of my way.” she pulled off his belt, yanking her arm back like starting a lawnmower, then wrapped it around his neck. She stood, tearing off her own clothes just as recklessly, as Jon slid his pants down to his ankles. He pushed his boxers down as she climbed on top of him, to make sure his fucking clothes were out of her way. In the corners of the mattress were a set of [ under-the-bed restraint straps](https://www.amazon.com/Arm-leg-restraint-kits-adjustable/dp/B01N912BO6/ref=sr_1_4_a_it?ie=UTF8&qid=1516622400&sr=8-4&keywords=under+the+bed+restraint+kit), though she seemed uninterested in those.

“Don’t move!” Dany boomed down at him, furiously, shouting as if to a crowd, gripping his belt with one hand; holding his cock with the other and teasing her clit with it. “Not one inch. _Gimme_ this fucking thing. _NOW!!_ ” Her voice got quieter as she slid down onto him; the sensation stealing the breath from them both. “I forbid you to be apart from me for that long _ever again_ , do you understand me?!”

 _Why would I ever want to be apart from this?_ “Yes, yes, I promise. I never--”

She pulled the belt tighter; her free hand moving from his cock to his hair; her eyes wild and ablaze. “I don’t care what we have to do. _You don’t understand_ how badly I’ve missed you. I’ve worn out vibrators and put my slaves through hell, but none of it’s the same. I’ve never needed anything like I need this fucking cock.”

 _It’s yours. Take it. Please, I beg you, take it!_ The belt stifled the words, but he could tell she knew what he was thinking. _You know everything that happens in my dopey, gorgeous mind, anyway._ She had stripped that mind of his clean and re-molded it to suit her tastes, after all.

Her eyes narrowed but her pupils stayed wide, as her hips and heat and wetness subdued him. But the look softened after only a few thrusts. “Why am I doing the work here?”

Jon looked up at her, too lost in the pleasure to respond with words. _Only because you haven’t commanded otherwise._ A crooked smile crept onto his face.

Dany leaned back, her body pulling Jon’s upright with her. “Fuck that. Who’s in charge here? _You?!_ ”

Jon exhaled; the closest he could get to ‘fuck, no,’ as Dany rolled onto her back. He followed, until he was on top of her, because why the fuck would he let himself leave that tight, soaked cunt for half a second?

“That’s it.” She gasped, slapped his ass with both hands and dug in her nails, letting the belt loosen around his neck. “ _Do it! Go!_ Pin me down and  _fuck me,_ slut!”

 _You heard the woman._ Jon gave her a good, hard thrust to remind her what she’d missed so much, and a low, primal growl of his own.

“Yes! _More!_ ” She pressed her nails deeper and pulled. “Don’t fucking tease me, do I look like--”

 _Shut the fuck up and let me do it._ Jon knew that if he was on top, his job was to pound her hard enough to shut her chatty ass the fuck up. He pinned her shoulders to the mattress and forced himself deeper. Again, until she let out a shocked moan and gilded her hands slowly from his ass, to his back, to his shoulder blades.

One hand broke away and grabbed the hair on the back of his head. “I said _fuck me,_ ” she commanded, through gritted teeth, though Jon could tell from her voice that she was losing control of her breath. She slid back, twisting, fighting, making him work for it, until her body trapped itself in the corner of the mattress. Her arm flailed out, knocking the room service menu off the nightstand, and she grinned like a mischievous toddler swatting Cheerios from her highchair.

Jon could give a shit about the mess, but knew exactly what she was doing. _Come here._ He pulled her closer by her thighs, and grabbed her hair. “ _Give it to me_ , or I’ll take it myself.”

The threat surprised both of them, and Dany’s face lit up. “Fuck yes. Do it, then.” She pulled his head down until his lips were an inch from hers. “I’ve got your baby inside me,” she reminded him. “This pussy is yours. _Act like it!_ ”

Not that he’d forgotten, but the reminder lit a fire inside him, and spread through his entire body. Sweat formed on his brow, as she pulled his lips to hers and opened her mouth. _Damn right, it’s mine._ And that baby was his. _A royal baby._ Not long ago, that would have sounded ridiculous. _It wasn’t real, then._ She wasn’t a queen, and fatherhood was nothing more to him than a vague aspiration. Now, there was a growing mass of cells that looked like a person, inside another person. Changing her. And him. And their lives. And the world. _Please its mother. Serve her. Protect her. She’s creating your own flesh and blood._ And if that flesh and blood was made to wear a crown, who the fuck was anyone else to take that away? _‘We the People?’ Fuck, no._

He could feel his face clench, his teeth grit, and his whole body tense up. He gripped her hair tighter in his fist. Flesh smacked against flesh, as Dany went from a demanding, shit-talking cunt to just another woman on her back, with no choice but to lay there and take the pounding she’d prodded and provoked him into giving.

“Oh,  _fuck, FUCK!_ ”

 _You’re gonna kiss my kid with that mouth?_ He covered it with his hand, holding it there even as her eyes widened and she struggled to breathe. _I can be as vicious as you._ At least when he had a reason. _You made me this way. All that sick shit you did worked. I’m yours. I’ll fuck and kill and rule like a good slave should._

Dany freed a hand and smacked him hard in the face, as her eyes followed up with a playful ‘fuck you.’ Jon took his hand from her mouth.

“For your heir!” She shouted, after a gasp for air.

 _For my heir._ In his madness, Jon decided that above all, his heir deserved a thoroughly fucked mother. He locked his hands around her neck and felt himself get closer, working harder for each breath, until his mind told him to stop worrying about dumb shit like breathing and do what he was born to.

Dany slapped him again, landing her palm on his cheekbone, and squirmed away just a few more inches. The surprise loosened his grip on her neck, and she forced his arms away with her elbows. “Come in me, slave,” she snarled, between ever louder, more frantic moans. “Right in my pussy, you piece of shit, I command it!”

Her voice blinded him, and shut out everything else. _Rightly so._ He felt the pleasure building. _More. More._ He started grunting himself. _More!_ He hammered his cock into her. _More! Do it!_ Her words had sent him sprinting toward the edge of the cliff, and her pussy pulled him right over. _So tight. So wet. So perfect. All mine._ Dany was screaming and shouting, but struggled to say real words, more and more with every thrust.

 _Good, then I’m doing my job._ Jon let out a throat-scraping groan and emptied himself inside her, burst after burst after burst, as Dany moaned and took it and demanded more. And he gave it to her, until he had nothing left, and the madness subsided.

Dany smiled up at him proudly, watching him float lazily down to Earth, and into his place once again, as her obedient little toy. She slid a finger into his mouth, and he closed his eyes and sucked; his cock twitching one more time, before it finally slipped out of her. When it did, she pulled her finger back out, allowing him the privilege of looking at her again.

“Thank you.” Dany caught her breath, as Jon reacquainted himself with the rest of the world. “I wasn't kidding. I've been rather horrendous lately.” _I can only imagine…_ Still not ready to set him free just yet, she pushed his head down to her stomach. “Kiss.” He did, softly, bathing in the afterglow. “Kiss the womb where your baby grows.”

Jon closed his eyes and kissed. It felt sacred. A religious experience. More than all those other religious experiences she’d drugged him into, combined. More than when he woke up in a hospital bed after he thought he’d died. _Was that the real one, or was that her basement?_ He could no longer remember, and no longer cared.

She looked down at him. “Guard this child with your life.”

He looked up and nodded.  _Always, Your Majesty._

She scooted back, and motioned for him to stand, then removed the belt from his neck and pointed toward the living room. “Help Bronn with our friend.”

Jon donned his boxers and entered the living room to find their friend on the floor, already stripped and hogtied; her mouth duct taped, to hold the sock in place.

“Bring her in!” Dany shouted from the bedroom. “Jesus!”

They dragged Margaery into the bedroom, to find Dany sitting in a desk chair near the minibar with Jon’s belt folded in her hand, having helped herself to some $18 Skittles.

“Men,” she rolled her eyes and smiled down at Margaery, still trying to wiggle herself free, but failing more miserably by the second. “They have the muscle mass, but when you need it, they just stand around, am I right?” She snapped her fingers and pointed toward the bed. Bronn and Jon knew what that meant, and tossed Margaery onto the mattress like another piece of luggage.

Dany stood, watched her servants undo the rope and bind Margaery’s wrists and ankles to the bed restraints. She slid a pillow under her stomach to keep her ass in the air, nice and vulnerable. “Have you ever been pregnant, Governor?” She swallowed a mouthful of Skittles.

Margaery grunted defiance through her gag.

Dany motioned for Bronn to twist Margaery’s head to the side, and slapped her cheek with Jon’s folded belt. “Answer the question.”

Margaery winced, squirmed and nodded; her eyes finally showing the proper fear.

“I figured. Then you know the cravings. Twix and clam chowder, Skittles and white trash pussy...” She dumped out the rest of the Skittles.

That's what Margaery was, at least by Targaryen standards. The Tyrells had been antebellum Southern aristocrats who remained staunch Democrats well into the 1990s, out of lingering hatred for Abraham Lincoln. When the South moved on to hating more recent progress, Margaery fled Atlanta to California, marrying an unconvincingly closeted venture capitalist named Renly Baratheon. The marriage gave her a niche in the party as someone who could raise money in Hollywood but still peel off some redneck votes, with her Southern accent, debutante charm, and refusal to take a real position on anything, ever.

Dany slapped her face with the belt again. “You know the type. A grasping little cunt in dire need of someone to bust up her long-neglected chifferobe.” Margaery tried to squirm away. _She’s only making it worse._ Jon took Dany's place in the desk chair, and enjoyed the show.

She ripped off the duct tape, grabbed the sock, and pressed the Yankee logo hard against Margaery’s nose. “Does that taste good, sweetie?”

Margaery coughed, twisted, and screamed for help at the top of her lungs.

Dany giggled, and forced the sock back in her mouth. “I think she's a Braves fan.” She moved to the foot of the mattress, and did a mocking [ Tomahawk Chop](https://youtu.be/DGuChxSvuh8) with her belt hand. “Ohhhhh, oh, oh oh…” _THWACK!_ Margaery screamed into her gag and thrashed as the leather hit her ass.

But Bronn cut Dany off right there. “Hey! That's incredibly racist!”

“Shit. Sorry.” For once, Dany sounded chastened, but belted Margaery again anyway, eschewing the cultural reductionism for a ruthless backhand. “Anyway,” she teased between Margaery’s legs with the belt, then hit her again. “When I ask you a question, answer it. Don’t shriek like a bitch.”

Margaery nodded; tears welling in her eyes.

“One more time.” Another backhand. “Do you like the taste of my filth?!” And another.

Jon watched, as Margaery gave in, and nodded.  _Good girl._ His hand wandered down to his cock again.

“Do you know why that is?” Dany ran a hand up Margaery’s inner thigh, teasing her pussy, slow and gentle, as the rest of her moved closer to her head. She knelt by the side of the mattress and cocked her head to the side, so their eyes lined up. “Because it’s already started. You’re falling in love with me. A sick sort of love; toxic, and wholly unrequited, but love nonetheless.” She teased Margaery’s clit, smiling as she whimpered and writhed. “You’ll crawl for miles over hot coals to taste the dirt beneath my feet when I’m done with you. You'll be as gay as your husband, but even worse at hiding it. So give in. Or struggle, and see if I won't murder you right here in this room.” She removed the sock from her mouth, and leaned up onto the mattress until their lips nearly touched. “Kiss me.”

Margaery froze, stunned, which got Dany’s hand away from her pussy, and tight around her neck.

“ _Kiss_ me.”

Dany guided her victim into a deep, slow kiss; stroking her hair, moaning softly into her mouth.

Jon had never seen Dany kiss a woman on the lips like that. _Christ, that’s hot._ His idle stroking grew much more deliberate. _Pace yourself._

“When was the last time you had some proper head?” Dany asked, breaking the kiss to move behind her, and smack her ass with the belt again.

“Ow! No more! Please! Stop!” _How long until she learns that ‘stop’ never works?_

Dany hit her again, sending a ripple across her ass. And again, on the other cheek. “Fuck your suffering. Answer me!” Again. “Months? Years?” Again.

Margaery burst into tears. Dany fed on that, leaping onto the mattress, humping the back of her leg and sliding two fingers inside deep her with no warning.

Jon had never been the type to get off watching a woman cry before. _But that was before._ He felt his cock throb in his hand. _Pace yourself!_ Against his own vehement protests, he gripped the arms of the chair with both hands.

“Years!” Margaery shouted. “ _Years!_ ” Dany looked over at Jon and smiled lecherously. _She's yours. Use her._

“Really?” She pulled her fingers out and spanked her with an open palm. “The gay guy you married never stuck his face in your pussy?” Again, harder. “You must really want to be president. But why?” Harder. “Do you even know anymore?”

Margaery teetered on the cusp of an uncontrollable sob.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve?” The next blow pushed her over. “Good!” Dany shouted over Margaery's wailing, moving her hands back down to her clit. “Beg.”

“Please...please...pleeeeeeeeease…” _She doesn't even know what she's begging for,_ Jon realized. _Doesn’t matter. Her Majesty will decide what she's begging for._

Dany rubbed Margaery’s clit calmly, almost clinically; watching her body react and noting every little twitch; every weakness she found. “More!”

“Please! Just stop hurting me, _please!_ ”

_There’s the ‘s-word’ again._

Dany sighed, and smacked her slut’s pussy. Margaery yelped and pounded her fists against the mattress.

“Beg for something I might actually do.” She slid a finger inside her, and stroked. “Rape you. Teach you what pleasure means again. Make you want to stay here forever, at my mercy, and mine alone, and do what the _fuck_ I want with this whorish little body of yours.”

Margaery tried to compose herself, and form the words Her Majesty wanted to hear. “Please, please have your way with me. _Please_. Rape me. Like you said, _please,_ make me fall in love with you!”

 _She's never felt love before._ Jon could sense it. _She actually wants that._

Dany pushed her fingers in deeper, found her slut's g-spot, and stroked. “Address me properly.”

Margaery moaned, stretched, and backed her body against Dany's fingers, pulling them in deeper. “ _Your Majesty._ Please, Your Majesty!”

 _No, that's the tyrant you see on TV. This one is much more dangerous._

Dany laughed. “Wrong, but trust me, you'll have ample opportunity to call me that.” Another drag of her fingers against Margaery's g-spot. “What's my _FUCKING_ name?!”

“Daenerys…”

“That’s what _people_ call me,” Dany grabbed a fistful of Margaery’s hair, tugged her head back, leaned forward, and growled into her ear. “Cheap little fuckpuppets like you call me Daddy.” She gave Margaery's g-spot an especially long stroke. “Because that's what I am. I make the rules. I tell you when you're good enough. No more torturing yourself to please millions of people you've never met. From now on, it's just me, and I'll do the torturing for you.”

“Please Daddy! Please make me yours! Make the others go away, I only want you, please, Daddy!”

Dany giggled, pushed Margaery’s knees apart, and bent down. “Good girl. Now give me this wet little pussy of yours.”

Margaery cried again, as Dany grabbed her ass with both hands, covered her pussy with her mouth, and pressed her face tight against it. Jon knew how good that tongue felt. It was a weapon as powerful as anything her company had ever built. Smarter than its victims, quicker, impossibly accurate; made to project power; to shock, and awe, and crush the will to fight.

 _It's hopeless, Governor. You’ll never be what you were._ Margaery arched her back and gripped the sheets. Her crying vied against moans of pleasure in her voice; her willfulness shattered as submission went from a last resort, to the least bad option, to an urge, to a need.

Dany seemed in a trance, like the rest of the world had disappeared; even Jon. Like a predator with a fresh kill; like she couldn't let up if she wanted to. Her hand flew down between her own legs and went to work, and Jon’s hand did the same for himself. _She wants you to stroke to this._ She'd never said that, but he knew it. Even if that meant something horrible later, it was too damn good. _So do it._

Her Majesty shuddered and writhed as well, and groaned into her new slut’s pussy. “I've wanted this for so long,” she panted, pulling away to take a breath. “I'd see you on TV and think what a pretty little whore you are. So weak, so desperate for approval, so eager to run, but so scared to rule. I'd wonder if your cunt is as slippery as the rest of you.” She dove back in, and took what was hers.

“Yes, Daddy, yes, yes, _ohhhhh,_ dear lord, yes!” Her accent grew stronger. _All her facades are melting away. Her Majesty is showing her what she really is._

“It’s like you never _wanted_ your husband to fuck you,” Dany continued. “Like you were saving yourself for me. Like you knew this was coming, and kept your pussy nice and fresh for me, so I'd love you, and tell you what a good girl you are.” She pulled back, and gave her another open-palmed slap to her pussy. “Is that it?” She slapped her again, and smeared Margaery's wetness all over her back, mocking her southern accent. “Fresh and juicy, like a Geo’gia peach?”

Margaery yelped like a dog with its tail stepped on, shuddered, and sucked her breath through her teeth. “No, Daddy, please, please don't hurt me…”

Dany laughed, and smacked her pussy again. “I’ll hurt you all I damn well please.” And again. “And good little bitches thank me for it.” And again. “Don't they!”

Margaery shrieked and sucked her breath through her teeth. “Thank you, Daddy, thank you thank you thank you…”

“Much better.” She turned to Jon and flashed her ‘in case you forgot, I'm fucking crazy’ stare. “In my bag.”

Assuming her command would be obvious once he got there, Jon shook himself out of his jerk-off daze, and ran to her bag in the living room. _Yup. Obvious._

He pulled out her [ strap-on](https://www.lovehoney.com/product.cfm?p=5901), which wasn’t really a strap-on in that it had no straps, and was far more terrifying. The Black Dread, as she called it, stayed in place by a bulbous base that lodged inside her, and vibrated while she wore it. Where the base met the business end was ribbing that brushed her clit, giving real orgasms, like a real cock. For whoever designed it, witnessing Daenerys with it would feel like a nuclear physicist witnessing Hiroshima. _‘I am become death. Destroyer of asses.’_

Jon ran back to the bedroom, noticing Bronn for the first time, sitting at the desk, watching _Curb Your Enthusiasm_ on his laptop, and tuning out the rape orgy.

He got there just as Dany slid a finger into Margaery's ass; deep, quick, and unannounced. Margaery gasped in agony. “No, no, _please!!_ ”

“Interesting,” Dany mused, jamming it deeper, indifferent to her suffering. “I thought Renly might have popped in here occasionally. Oh, well.” She trained her eyes on Jon again. “Fluff me.”

‘Fluffing’ Daenerys meant fitting her cock in place, lubing it up with his mouth, and guiding it into her victim. This victim was good and wet already, but Jon knew better than to forego the lubrication.

She flipped around and sat, legs spread, at the edge of the mattress. Feeling cheeky, Jon knelt before her, and teased her cunt with the bulbed end.

Dany looked down and smiled lovingly. “Tease me for one more second, and I'll rip you a pussy and tease you back.” Her voice was just as sweet as her smile, and her threat just as genuine.

His own cock being an obsolete, non-detachable model, Jon obeyed. Dany sighed as it slid into place, then smiled wickedly and grabbed Jon's hair, guiding what he secretly called ‘Robocock’ into his mouth. He got as much in as he could, but apparently not enough.

“Come on, now,” Dany sighed, holding his head in place, gag reflex be damned. “Have you forgotten how to suck my cock?!”

Jon hoped not. Learning had taken months, and involved dozens of pigtail hair extensions ripped from his head. He shook his head and did his best to relax his throat.

“Then _suck!_ ”

He pressed his lips around it, breathing frantically through his nose until it touched her mound, praying all the way he wouldn't gag.

Dany laughed in triumph when she felt his desperate breaths, and pushed him dismissively, contemptuously to the floor. She turned back to Margaery, teased her pussy with the tip of the Black Dread. “All set, sweetie? Ready to be a good girl for me?”

She nodded and whispered, clearly exhausted. “Yes…” _She won't like that._

Still standing, Dany grabbed Jon's belt again and lashed her ass hard. “Ungrateful piece of shit... _BEG!!_ ” Her voice rang off the walls.

“Please, Daddy!” Margaery whimpered through her tears, barely audible; barely human. “Please fuck me, please, I'm your whore, _I need it!_ ”

Dany stayed silent, but belted her again. _A test._

“Thank you, Daddy, thank you so much, please, _please_ fuck me, Daddy! _Fuck me!_ Please... please…” That seemed like all she had left.

Another quick tease; another lash with the belt. “Say it.”

“ _Thank you! Fuck!_ Thank you, Daddy!” Her whole body was quivering; her ass squirming, in lust and fear at once. “Fuck me, I’m begging you! Teach me to beg how you like it, _please_ , I need you!”

Jon marveled, still on his knees, as his hand went back to his cock. _I was her, once._ He knew exactly what Margaery was thinking. _‘Am I saying this to save my life, or do I mean it? Is there a difference? How would I even know? Maybe I shouldn't care. Maybe I don't matter. Maybe only she matters. Yes. ONLY she matters. That's just how it is, now; it's the only way the world makes sense. Beg her to rape me. Why else would I exist? Stick my ass up. Show her how bad I need it.’_ Margaery stuck her ass up, to show her how bad she needed it.

 _Still not enough._ The muscles in Dany's arm and shoulders flexed with the next lash. _Jesus, that's hot._ “This whole fucking country needs me. I said _SAY IT!!_ ”

Margaery began to cry again. “I love you, I love you, you were right, I'm sorry, I love you!” She sucked some snot back up her nose.

Another lash. “Who matters in your sad little life?!”

“You do, Daddy!”

And another. “Who else?!”

Margery shrieked again. “No one, Daddy! Only you!” She crumbled into a long, and gasping sob.

Finally satisfied, Dany got back up on the mattress, turned on the vibration, and pushed her cock inside.

“ _Oh,_ God, fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me!_ ”

Dany let out a moan and a grunt of her own, and thrust deeper.

“Fuck, yes, _harder!_ ”

That earned her a two-handed spank, and a backwards tug. “Lick your tears off your worthless face,” Dany barked. “Taste that! I _live_ on that. You want to make me happy? _Suffer! Cry!_ ”

Margery spewed out a random assortment of pleases and thank-yous and cries for more pain at her master's hands.

“Fuck her face!” Dany hissed at Jon. “Like I fucked yours. Teach her the pecking order.”

Jon knelt on the bed in front of her face, picked her head up, and obeyed. For all he cared, Dany could have told him to fuck a porcupine. _When she tells you to put your dick in something, you put your dick in it._ But even Jon had to admit a certain twisted satisfaction from Margaery Tyrell's crying mouth on his cock, pulled back and forth in a tug of war between his fist in her hair, and Dany’s merciless pounding.

It wasn’t the attack ads, or the way she condescended him, and it sure as hell wasn’t their policy differences. _You need policies to have differences._ She was just another unworthy hack, begging strangers to let her be the next transient squatter in Daenerys’s rightful home. One more leader too weak to tell the truth; that people simply weren’t meant to govern themselves; that Her Majesty alone was born to rule them.

 _It’s not her fault,_ Jon supposed, as he pressed his cock deeper, to test if she was gagging or just crying too hard. _Most people don’t know Daenerys like I do._ He wondered how people could miss what seemed so obvious. _That will change, soon._ The thought excited him, and he thrust deeper. He still wasn't sure if she was crying or gagging. _She should do both. For Her Majesty’s pleasure._

Dany smiled at him from the other end of her brainwashed whore. _Is this good? Does this please you?_ He stared into her eyes and gave Margaery another good thrust of his hips. _God, I hope it pleases you._ Sensing his desperate craving for her approval, Dany’s smile turned pure evil. She gripped Margaery’s ass and pounded away. Her weight was angled so gravity did most of the work, and she fucked hard as Jon had ever seen a man fuck a woman.

The vibration was clearly working, as Jon could see Dany caring less about Margaery and more about her own clit with every thrust. She arched her back and groaned, gritting her teeth as she hurtled closer to the falls.

“ _DO YOU SEE, NOW?!_ ” Dany knew the answer, and forgave Margaery for having too much cock in her mouth to reply. “ _DO YOU SEE WHAT I AM?!_ ”

 _How could anyone not see what you are?_ Jon tugged Margaery’s ear, so she’d pay attention.

Dany screamed and dragged her nails down Margaery’s back as she came; her chest heaving as her body relaxed and the pounding subsided. She leaned down into Margaery’s ear, as Jon still held it. “If you ever set foot in the White House again, you'll be joining my harem. And you'll be lucky if I pick you, right, slut?”

Margaery nodded and made a pathetic attempt at a “Yes, Daddy.”

Dany removed the Black Dread from herself, but kept it inside Margaery, with the vibrator running. She turned back toward Bronn, still breathing fast and heavy. “ _DUCT TAPE!!_ ”

Bronn flung her a roll from across the room, barely taking his eyes off his laptop. Dany caught it, tore some pieces off with her teeth, and hastily slapped way too much of it over Margaery’s freshly ruined cunt to hold the vibrator in place.

She climbed over Margaery like she weren’t even there, kissed Jon deeply, and rolled him onto his back, prying his cock out of Margaery’s mouth along the way. “Gimme, gimme, gimme, I want _MORE!!_ ” And she got it, quickly, and amply lubricated by Margaery’s spit and tears and whatever else. “ _FUCK!!_ ”

As with life in general, Dany was already getting her way, before Jon had any clue what was happening. There was no teasing, no buildup, just the rhythm she knew would get him to fill her again as quickly and efficiently as possible.

“You didn’t think I’d let you waste a load down that bitch’s throat, did you?” She asked, bouncing like a maniac, fully intending ‘that bitch’ to hear.

Jon shook his head. _No, Daddy._

“Of course not. If your dick is in anyone else in this world, it’s to _kill time_ until I’m ready for you.” She turned toward Margaery and spat down onto her cheek. “Do you hear that?! _You’re a footnote! You're nothing! NOBODY cares about you!_ ”

Margaery let out a dazed moan. Dany turned back to Jon and slapped him, for no discernible reason.

“I love it when you can’t tell if they’re crying or coming, don’t you?” She picked herself up higher and threw her full weight down.

Jon forgot to answer the question, but Dany didn’t seem to care. “It’s mine. Every last drop. And if you ever deny that, I’ll rape it out of you until your cock falls off.”

“Yes, Daddy!” Jon shouted.

Dany gritted her teeth. “Then _GIMME!!_ ”

Jon didn’t realize he was close. He may not have even been close, until Her Majesty willed it. But there he was, diving over the falls regardless.

“Ugh!” Dany roared, as Jon pumped out what she wanted. “ _MORE!!_ ”

Jon screamed and arched his back, pushing himself deeper into her, like he could somehow find more and force it out. He may have even done that. When it was over, he laid there, dizzy and disoriented, and as happy as a man could get.

Dany snuggled him for a while, tracing her finger aimlessly around his chest, as Margaery’s whimpers grew higher in pitch, then disappeared back into sobbing. She looked over. “Did you come, sweetie?”

Margaery grimaced and nodded. Dany reached over Jon, grabbed a loose piece of duct tape, and ripped out the Black Dread, giggling as Margaery screamed in pain, as the tape tore from her skin.

“Clean this,” she commanded, turning off the vibration and sliding the Black Dread into Margaery’s mouth.

“Yes, Daddy.” Margaery sucked. _It's all she’s got left. The instinct to suck. Everything else is a puddle on the bed._

Jon shifted uncomfortably, as Margaery’s arm was digging into his back. Dany slapped him, and rested her head on his stomach. “Deal with it.” So he dealt with it, until Dany got restless and rolled out of bed, stretching.

“Let’s recap,” she continued, limping, staggering around for her clothes. _I did that to her. I was a good boy._ She put her pants on, and released one of Margaery’s ankles. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Dropping out,” Margaery replied, barely intelligible with the Black Dread still in her mouth. Jon pulled it out, because he was ‘Good Cop.’ Margaery gasped, caught her breath, and wallowed in her shame.

Dany undid the restraint on her other ankle. “And endorsing?”

“Jon.” Her voice had a beautiful resignation to it.

“You should come out as lesbian, too. That would amuse me.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

She teased Margaery’s clit from behind, once more for the road. “Who matters?”

“Only you, Daddy.” She shuddered, too weak to pretend not to enjoy it. “I love you.”

“Good.” Mercifully, Dany freed the arm that had been digging into Jon’s back, and pulled so it dangled limply off the mattress. “I’ll never love you back. You're simply not good enough. But you'll still ruin your life to please me?”

Margaery cringed, but swallowed her pain and admitted the truth. “Yes, Daddy.”

Dany undid the last restraint. “And do we tell anyone about this?”

“No, Daddy…”

“That’s my good girl. No one would believe you, anyway.”

Margaery nodded, as Dany pulled Jon off the bed. He fell straight to his knees in front of her, held her with his hands on her ass, and kissed her stomach. _Our baby’s in there._ It still amazed him.

“Aww,” Dany chuckled, petted him, and turned to Margaery. “Get dressed, and get the fuck out.”

Margaery dressed and slinked out with her tail between her legs, as Dany stared daggers until the door closed behind her.

“You’re not worried?” Jon asked, by then half-dressed as well.

“If I was, she’d still be strapped to that bed. I promise, dear, she’ll be a distant memory soon.”

“Yeah?” Jon looked at her, smiling curiously.

She stroked his cheek and kissed him. “And that’s why I’m afraid I can’t stay.”

He tried his best not to pout, but was terrible at not pouting.

“I said we’d never be apart this long again, and I meant it. Be a good boy, obey my commands, and you’ll see.”

Dany took her time getting dressed, but still left far too quickly. Jon called Sam, told him the news about Margaery, and went to bed.

The next morning, as commanded, Margaery dropped out to process her newfound lesbianism, and endorsed Jon as the Democratic nominee. With no more primaries, and Congress passing its annual appropriations bills, Jon scheduled an evening flight to Washington, to do what was technically still his job.

His new Secret Service detail boarded his plane unannounced, as he waited for it to refuel. They were a humorless bunch; like robots, but he supposed that fit the stereotype. Their lead agent was a short-ish black guy who went by Aaron. He was as cold as the rest of them, but younger, and treated Jon with ‘all due respect’ for his position, plus some.

“The CIA will brief you in Langley when you land,” Aaron informed him, inviting himself to sit next to Jon in the First Class bulkhead row. His accent was classic Deep South, and he gave off a slight gay vibe, though Jon couldn’t put his finger on why.

Jon looked away from the window, where he was watching the ground crew scurry around. “We land at ten.”

“10:06.” He looked almost ashamed. “I apologize, sir. I’ll have them make up time in the air.”

Jon had to laugh. “I meant I’m exhausted. Can we do it in the morning?”

On that, he was less accommodating. “No.”

It would be his first private briefing, and Jon couldn’t let the CIA think he was lazy. “Langley it is, then.”

As was the custom, Jon pretended to enjoy chatting up the reporters in the back of the plane, went back up front as soon as they began to taxi, then reclined his seat and closed his eyes. Aaron sat beside him, wide awake and staring silently at the bulkhead. _Does he even blink?_

Jon dozed off briefly, waking to the sound of the landing gear extending. He sat up, stretched, and looked at his watch as they glided over the runway. _9:59:57, 9:59:58, 9:59:59..._ The tires screeched softly as the wheels hit the runway, at 10:00 on the dot. Aaron gave him a solemn, deferential nod.

An SUV met him on the tarmac as he and Sam deplaned. Aaron opened the door. “Come with us, sir.” Jon looked at Sam, hopped in behind the driver, and slid over to make room.

Sam moved to follow, but Aaron blocked him. “Just the senator, please.”

From his tone, Jon sensed something amiss.

“I’m his--” Sam protested.

“We know.”

Aaron closed the door, and got into the front passenger seat. They made straight for CIA headquarters, riding in tense silence. _Am I being arrested?_ Sneaking into the country was brazen, even by Daenerys’s standards. They could have followed her. _They could have bugged that hotel room._

The Director of National Intelligence greeted them in Langley himself. Jon had always found something unsettling about Varys. His whispery voice sounded like Truman Capote mugging you in an alley, and he was notorious for keeping even the White House out of the loop on his activities, yet even the famously paranoid Cersei Lannister couldn’t purge him.

“Why am I here?” Jon demanded, as they passed through the lobby.

Varys led him and Aaron toward an empty stairwell, and glared at him once inside. “I think you know.”

Her Majesty had prepared him for this. _‘Say nothing.’_

After an endless series of hallways, stairs, and tunnels, Varys led him to a cramped basement conference room, packed with an odd crowd. Gendry Baratheon, the Commissioner of the NYPD; Barristan Selmy, Commander of the U.S. Strategic Command, the logistical backbone of the military; and Yara Greyjoy, Commander of the U.S. Fleet Forces Command, which oversaw the Atlantic Ocean. Both military officers, Jon remembered, were recently passed over for promotions, and had made their displeasure quite clear in Beltway circles.

“We know about the baby,” Varys led off, as they sat.

 _Yup, I’m being arrested._ Jon nodded. _Don’t mention the rest._ Not the year in captivity, not the fake rescue mission, not the murder, and certainly not the torch. _Let them show their cards._

“How?” He answered flatly, skipping the denials.

“Don’t worry about that,” answered Gendry.

“Look,” Jon tried to explain, masking his desperation with defiance, “If you think that disqualifies me, it doesn’t. The Constitution only says--”

Varys leaned forward in his seat, and folded his hands on the table. “We don’t care.” _Fair enough._ “If you accept your party’s nomination, you’ll put this country on the brink of civil war.”

 _Let’s cut to the chase, then._ “So you want me to drop out now, or you’ll go public with the baby story.” _‘Ask for twenty-four hours to tell your family. I’ll do the rest,’_ she’d commanded. He assumed ‘the rest’ involved a healthy dose of bloodshed.

“No,” Varys replied, to Jon’s surprise.

Jon scanned the room. Every face was cold and inscrutable. “What do you want, then?”

“To swear fealty to you.”

Jon blinked. _Fealty. To me._

“Lead us over the brink.” Varys looked deep into his eyes, gauging him. “We’ll fight by your side.” _He’s not just gauging. He’s pleading._

Jon hesitated. _Keep playing dumb._ “I don’t know what that means.”

“Of course not. Her Majesty’s will is greater than all of us.” Varys paused, and smiled. “You think we’re recording this, so you’ll say something incriminating.”

 _Yup._ Jon kept as straight-faced as he could.

“Then don’t say anything. But remember the faces in this room. We may not speak again until she has her crown, but you'll know our work when you see it. If there’s nothing further, you’re free to go.”

Jon stood and made for the door, feeling like a pedophile after a tense encounter with a _Dateline_ crew. _They were free to go, then they got tackled on the lawn._

But there was no tackling; just Aaron standing guard. “We’ll take you home, now.”

Jon looked at him. “You knew about that, didn’t you…”

Aaron unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. In the center of his bare chest was a tattoo of Her Majesty's unmistakable seal. “Touch it, sir.”

He felt it, and looked at the agent, stunned. _That's a brand._ He knew the Feds took ‘deep undercover’ investigations seriously, but that was excessive, even for them. _Only Daenerys would do that to a man,_ Jon knew. _She probably did it herself._ He felt a pang of jealousy that this man had the honor of feeling such pain at Her Majesty's hands. _Help her take what's hers, then beg nicely._

“I serve you,” Aaron buttoned back up, “and our rightful Queen.”

Still dazed when got back to the car, Jon found a blank envelope resting neatly on his seat. Inside was a letter on Her Majesty's letterhead, with the three headed dragon and the Latin words _Ignis et Sanguis_ beneath it. The penmanship was inhumanly perfect, like the woman who’d written it.

> _My Love,_
> 
> _Enclosed is a statement for your press conference tomorrow. You'll recite every word precisely as written, if you know what's good for you. ;)_
> 
> _You’ll need women behind you when you come out as my fuckpuppet. I've booked your sisters on the first flight from Minneapolis to Washington tomorrow. You should tell them that._
> 
> _Things will soon turn rather ugly, but no matter how impossible it may seem at times, remember my will is paramount, my wrath is far worse than anything they’re capable of, and_ _all of this is for our children_ _. This world isn't good enough for them, but we’ll fix it together._
> 
> _I love you dearly, my broken little rapedoll. More than words can say._
> 
> _Now and Always,_
> 
> _Her Majesty Daenerys Targaryen the First; Queen and Savior of the Kingdom of Iraq, Empress of the Americas and the Commonwealth of Nations, and Defender of the Rightful Order_

He folded the letter, and put it in his pocket. _This is real._ Jon had grown accustomed to living as if everything were a dream; that he'd be giving a speech one minute, then wake up in her basement, strapped to a gurney with jumper cables on his balls. He often had dreams like that.

But for the first time since her transformation from his fuckbuddy to his reason for existing, Dany betrayed fear. Fear she might lose. Fear he might lose faith in her. She’d always spoken with such certainty, like her plan would fall effortlessly into place. _She’d never admit fear in a dream._

He remembered her speech at the UN, where she said democracy only hurts those it’s supposed to empower. It creates the false hope of a perfect world, breeding only resentment when the wars, tax cuts, and entitlements don’t magically pay for themselves. Its people choose weak, servile leaders and pull them in every direction until they tear apart, like a medieval execution, when a strong monarch would drag her subjects back from the fringe, and compel them to serve a greater good.

Jon would have thought that was nuts before, but he saw the truth of it, more every day. He knew his policies inside and out, including those he hated but supported anyway, to placate some sliver of the electorate. He knew which ones would work, and which would keep people happy until he left office, then implode, for the next poor sucker to clean up.

He’d wanted to be different, but whenever he tried, some lobbyist would threaten to run ads calling him a baby-killing communist, or a grandma-killing capitalist, or too stupid to be president, or too smart. And he’d back off, because people believed those ads, because they wanted to believe that, anyway. _‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, so who needs evidence?’_

Jon called his sisters when he got home, insisting they come to DC but refusing to say why, then texted Sam to meet him at his home the next morning. _‘Bomb drops tomorrow.’_

Sam arrived just as Jon was waking up, all pissed off and panicked. “You’re announcing this _now?!_ You just clinched the nomination! You’re throwing away a week of pure coronation coverage!” _Then we’ll wait until the coronation_. But Sam didn’t need to know that just yet.

“Announce it later, and it looks like we were hiding it,” Jon answered from his breakfast table, barely looking up from his _New York Times_ article about Dany’s brother finishing rehab.

Sansa and Arya came shortly thereafter; tired, confused, and ornery. Arya dropped her carry-on in the foyer, took a sip of her massive Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee, and got straight to the point. “Why the _shit_ did you make me get up at four in the morning?”

“I second that,” added Sansa.

“And why am I dressed like a women’s basketball coach?” Arya did look ridiculous in a blazer, and naked without her nose ring.

Assuming Jon was afraid, Sam tried to ease into it. “Jon’s going to make an announcement, and we thought it would help for you to be here.”

Sansa looked at Sam, then Jon, knowing this would be one of ‘those’ press conferences. “Jeez, Jon, what did you do?”

Jon leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head, unable to stop himself from smiling. “I got Daenerys Targaryen pregnant.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Nice!” Arya shouted at the same time, reaching a hand out for a high-five. Arya had an affinity for trouble. _And blondes,_ Jon strongly suspected.

“So you’re dropping out,” Sansa declared.

Jon slapped Arya’s palm, pulled away when she tried something with her fingers that he was far too white to be comfortable with, then shook his head at Sansa. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, if you marry a monarch, you’re constitutionally disqualified.”

“Who said I’m marrying her?”

Sansa looked at Sam, incredulous that he’d allowed this to happen. _Sam didn’t know that, either._ “That’s political suicide.”

Jon stood, allowing no further hand-wringing. “Politics isn’t what it used to be.” _Her Majesty will make sure of that._ “If you think I’m crazy, fine. But if you love me, please just stand behind me looking stupid for thirty seconds, then vote however you want.”

The lawn was packed with cameras, as Jon stepped to the podium on his front walkway. “Good morning.” A wave of shutters clicked frantically, like the mere salutation was history. “Roughly three months ago, I spent a night in New York with Daenerys Targaryen, during which we conceived a child.” Muttering broke out among the reporters. _I also murdered someone while she watched and masturbated._

“Neither of us planned for this,” he said, of the conception Daenerys had planned meticulously, “but this child is the product of deep and genuine love.” _That’s the truest part of this whole thing._

“I am well aware of the constitutional issues this raises. For that reason, while I intend to be actively involved in my child’s life, Her Majesty and I will not marry, and I will take no position in the line of succession to the Iraqi throne.” The mutters grew louder.

“I also know Queen Daenerys holds many controversial opinions on the nature and purpose of government,” Jon went on. “I want to assure everyone watching that her beliefs are not my own. As in many relationships, our love for each other as people transcends our differences, but doesn’t erase them. If I’m elected, she will have no influence over my decisions, and no role in my administration.” _I’ll make no decisions, and there will be no administration._

“To set the record straight, Queen Daenerys informed me of her pregnancy in January. We delayed this announcement because of the risk of miscarriage, and for no other reason. We never intended to mislead the public during the primaries, nor did we. The policies I’ve advocated are the ones I’ll support in the general election and beyond. I am running to serve the American people; not myself, or anyone else. I know you’ll have many questions, and I’ll answer them in the coming days.”

He left the podium, chased inside by a barrage of questions.

> “ _WHEN WAS THE FIRST TIME YOU SLEPT TOGETHER?!_ ”
> 
> “ _HOW IS THIS NOT A THREAT TO NATIONAL SECURITY?!_ ”
> 
> “ _HOW DO YOU KNOW IT'S YOURS?!_ ”
> 
> “ _HOW CAN YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE LIKE THAT?!_ ”
> 
> “ _HOW CAN YOU SAY SHE WON'T INFLUENCE YOUR DECISIONS?!_ ”
> 
> “ _WILL YOU MARRY HER IF YOU LOSE?!_ ”

The next hour of television was brutal. Statements flew out of the RNC and Randyll Tarly, questioning his eligibility to run. And those were the softballs. The talking heads were calling him a lying, treasonous manwhore, who conned little old ladies into voting for a tyrant’s patsy.

Sansa sat next to Jon on his living room couch, turned off the TV, and put her hand on his knee. “I’ve never met this woman, but if you love her, then she must not be as crazy as she seems.”

 _Oh, she’s much crazier._ Jon nodded. “Agree with her or not, she honestly wants what’s best.”

“You really think you can make this work?”

“It's worth a shot.”

Sam hurried into the room from the kitchen, where he'd been fielding calls, and turned the TV back on. “You’ve been saved by some tragic deaths.”

The Navy, it seemed, had shot down a private jet bound for New York in international waters over the middle of the Atlantic. Details were sketchy. The Navy denied having ships in the area, but ‘senior officials’ leaked otherwise. _‘You’ll know our work when you see it.’_

Rescue ships recovered at least one body, and remnants of an American missile. Conspiracy theories lit up the internet. Daenerys’s company had built that missile, and this was clearly a ‘false flag’ to distract the media from Jon’s announcement.

The next leak only made it worse. Rumor had it that the plane was carrying Viserys Targaryen, returning from his stint in a Swiss rehab facility. Some called it proof that Daenerys couldn’t have been behind it; she wouldn’t kill her own brother, just when he’d gotten his life together. Others said that was exactly the sort of thing she’d do.

As the hours went on, the talk naturally turned to Jon. What did he know, and when did he know it? How could he possibly handle a crisis like this as president?

When it became clear that they’d run out of new information, Sam pressed Jon to make some sort of statement on TV. “Do MSNBC. They’ll go easy.”

He nodded, Sam called a producer, and within minutes, Jon was in MSNBC’s Washington studio, staring into a camera, beneath a monitor showing an anchor in New York.

 _Note to self: smack Sam in the head,_ Jon thought, as soon as the anchor started.

“You say your affair started in January,” she led off, after the most terse ‘hello’ Jon had ever gotten. “That’s--”

“Hold on,” Jon replied. “We’re both single. No one's having an affair.”

But the anchor wasn’t interested in semantics. “Let me finish. You say you’re in love with her, but you conveniently omitted that little nugget during the primaries. Forget about the pregnancy, don’t you think that alone is something voters should know?”

“That’s a private matter, and I don’t--”

“You gave up your privacy when you ran for president,” the anchor declared, allowing no debate on the matter. “And you had no problem making it public the day after you clinched the nomination. Why should _anyone_ trust you now?”

“Well--”

“And this woman you’re in love with has said, in front of the whole world, that democracy is a failed system. Do you agree with that?”

“No, of course not.” He tried to shift to his standard talking points. “The system in Washington is broken, but we can--”

“She made billions nationalizing the oil industry!”

“ _She_ hasn’t made anything. That’s tax revenue, it goes to the government.” _Though she and the government share a bank account._ “And she’s reinvesting all of that into projects that create jobs. She's bringing Iraq into the twenty-first century.”

“So you’re saying her policies are _good?!_ ”

 _Our opinions don't matter._ “Not all of them, but--”

“She strung people up by their ankles and cooked them alive over a bonfire!” _Well, yeah, they questioned her right to rule._ Lots of people had done that, though much fewer recently. Most of them were merely hanged, but those gentlemen had made the mistake of basing their arguments on her womanhood. “That’s the twenty-first century?!”

 _It's her century._ “Well, it’s a different--”

“I’m going to cut you off right there, Senator, we’ve got some new information.”

Jon watched silently, while the anchor read something on her desk.

“This statement just came in from your girlfriend,” she announced contemptuously. “‘The Crown confirms that His Highness Prince Viserys was aboard the unarmed, civilian aircraft shot down by an American warship with no warning or provocation. Her Majesty holds President Lannister personally responsible. This will not go unanswered.’ Thoughts, Senator?”


	8. Daenerys IV

_Now this is a prison,_ Dany thought. The newer ones were so boring and sterile; everything freshly painted and bolted safely to the floor. But the Mississippi State Penitentiary dated back to the early 1900s, and was laid out like in the movies; floor-to-ceiling cages of men, all shouting Grade A filth at her, despite the frumpy Clarice Starling outfit she’d been advised to wear.

 _Just like picking out a puppy._ Dany wanted to find the biggest, meanest one, so she could break him down to nothing and parade him through the yard on a leash. But alas, she couldn't. She was only twenty-seven at the time; not quite five years into her tenure running the family business, and couldn't be as brazen with her rapes as she'd prefer.

 _It's a business trip, anyway._ The State of Mississippi was desperate to get this prison off its balance sheet, and entrust it to the Invisible Hand of the free market by way of a privatization contract with her family's conglomerate. _When the hand’s invisible, so is the iron fist._ Dany loved her job.

“As you can see, ma'am,” explained the warden, who looked and sounded like Fat Elvis dressed as a mall security guard, “we don't have the resources to keep the place up.” The two guards in front of them stepped around a large bucket, nearly full from a leak in the ceiling. “Soon as they get here, we gotta pay for some lawyer to--sue their way out.”

“Mhm.” Dany suspected by the way he hesitated before the word ‘sue,’ that he'd meant to say something else. _Something that rhymes with ‘sue,’ and starts with a J,_ if prior experience with men like him were any guide. _Southern charm at its finest._

“We spend more per inmate every year than I spend on m’own son.”

Dany nodded, acknowledging the sounds coming from his mouth. “Let's see the rec yard.” _And some shirtless pull-ups. And if we’re lucky, a fight._

“Sure thing, ma'am.”

Dany tuned out the catcalls, choosing men at random to stare down as they walked toward the yard. Most of them leered, and gave her a demo of their tongues. _Meh._ She kept her eyes on each for as long as she could as she walked, staring them into shamed, confused silence, blowing the prettier ones a discreet kiss.

A man called to her from behind. “Miss!” His Southern accent had a slight but noticeably effeminate lilt. Most distinctively, he made no mention of ‘that booty,’ or what he'd do to it.

Dany turned her head. Twenty feet behind stood a man in orange pants and a wifebeater, abandoning his cart of empty food trays to flag her down. He was slight, by this lot’s standards, but clearly in excellent shape; excellent enough for the rest of her body to follow, pulling the warden and guards with her.

“Miss, I know who you are!”

 _Seriously?_ Dany sighed. _A lecture about my father, from a guy who can’t be trusted with shoelaces?_ Too ornery for her own good that day, Dany glared and stepped toward him, but found none of the usual self-righteous anger on his face.

“Have you lost your damn mind, boy?!” The warden barked, as the two guards hustled past her, drawing their clubs. The man dropped to his knees and put his hands up. _A good look_ , though it wasn’t for her.

“I want to work for you!”

 _Huh?_ The warden scoffed, and the cell block broke into laughter. _The electric fence might hinder your commute._ But Dany was a sucker for chutzpah.

 _Eh, what the hell._ “Leave him alone!” She shouted, but the guards ignored her. _No Yankee woman will get between their clubs and a kneeling black guy._ She grabbed the warden’s arm, and stared. “Stop them, or you'll be my first layoff.”

The warden whistled, stopping the guards in their tracks, just as they were about to start swinging. “Back off!”

Dany approached him. “What's your name?” She asked, standing about a foot in front of him.

“Faggot Maggot!” Shouted some idiot in the peanut gallery. _Lovely._

The man seemed unfazed. “Aaron, Miss.”

Dany got a better look at him. Aaron had barely more body hair than she did. _You're the belle of the ball here, aren't you?_ His eyes seemed to read her mind, and answer in the affirmative. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Why are you here?”

The warden interjected. “Possession of crack cocaine with intent to distribute. Twenty years, minimum.” As Dany would later learn, he’d been pulled over at seventeen for rolling through a stop sign. Police found a single crack pipe that belonged to his mother, but the warden’s tone made him sound like Pablo Escobar.

Dany ignored him, and pressed her still-kneeling prisoner. “That makes it rather difficult to work for me, doesn't it?”

“Maybe I can do some kinda work release…”

The warden laughed. “You ain't eligible for no work release, boy.”

 _Nothing a call to the governor can’t fix._ “Why do you want to work for me?”

“You got soldiers, Miss. Fighting in Iraq.” _They're security consultants, and they're providing augmentative assistance to Designated Important Persons, but go on._ “And people doing construction. I read they fixed it up better than it was. Schools n’that.”

 _You read correctly._ Dany suspected this man had done more reading than he let on.

“If someone fixed up my town like that when I was little, maybe I wouldn't be here.”

“Come on, ma'am.” The warden grabbed Dany's arm.

“Touch me again,” she hissed, snatching her arm away, “and I'll sue you so hard, you'll have to auction off _y’own_ _suhhhhn_.”

“ _Ohhhhhhhhh!_ ” Someone shouted, which set off a wave of imitators. The warden backed off, to avoid further humiliation.

Dany turned back to Aaron, raising a hand to the crowd. _Hush my puppies, as they say._ The puppies hushed, and stopped demanding to smell her hair. _Fuck, I love power._

She motioned for him to rise, then turned back to the warden. “I fly straight back to New York from here. Aaron flies up tomorrow, guarded by those two ‘gentlemen.’ You'll find him a suit, and bring him to my office. I'll send a plane, and I'll pay your guards’ overtime. But if I want this man,I'll have him.”

The warden looked ready to piss himself. Dany's eyes had a way of doing that. “But--”

“ _Don’t. Speak._ You'll get a call from the governor this afternoon, telling you to do precisely what I say.” Dany gave the cell block another once-over. “And sure, I'll run your shitty prison.”

She showed herself out, and spent the flight back wondering what the hell to do next. In truth, she had no plan; all she knew was that the kid had above average potential, and that warden needed a bag of dicks to suck. _Maybe I'll pay him to start a riot._ That would be hilarious, but it would soon be her mess to clean up. _Maybe I'll fuck him._ She hadn't fucked a gay black guy since Burning Man, but that guy kept sending her drunk text marriage proposals, and Dany didn't have time for that.

She still had no plan when Aaron walked into her office the next morning, in a cheap but decent suit, and shackles. _Tacky ones._ Dany had plenty of her own, should things go that way; she reminded the guards that she would soon be their new boss, had them remove the shackles, and shooed them out.

 _So..._ “I must confess, I have no idea why I brought you here.”

“I understand, Miss.”

 _His accent’s not as strong today,_ Dany noticed, _but the gay vibe’s stronger_. He looked at a bowl of Jolly Ranchers on her desk, clearly craving one, but terrified to ask.

Dany smiled, stirring downstairs a bit, as terrified men often had that effect. _“_ Go on, take one.” _The pussy tingle earned you a treat._

“Thank you, Miss.” _I like the deference._ Though she wished it was her who had beaten it into him; not his Mississippi childhood.

“I _want_ to help you. You risked a beating to be here, and I guarantee you were the only prisoner who knew me. But I'd have to pull quite a few strings. So, impress me. Give me a reason to pull them.”

Aaron sucked his candy, looked around, and spotted the doggy bed in the corner, behind her desk. Inside were four Doberman puppies. He smiled.

Dany smiled, too. “Cute, right?”

Aaron stood, grabbed one, and stood in front of her desk. He snatched her letter opener, drove it straight into the dog’s stomach, dragged it up to its neck, then slit its throat and dumped its body on her desk, entrails and all.

Dany's jaw dropped. _That's fucked up, even for me._ The puppy slaughter wasn't even the troubling part. _I told him to impress me, and he knew it would._ Dany relied on people having no idea how fucking nuts she was, but this man had read her perfectly.

 _Compose yourself._ “How long have you been killing puppies?” She asked, flatly. _You’re not my first sociopath._

“That was my first, Miss.”

She shot him a bullshit-melting stare, but his face stayed frozen. _Interesting._ “You were awfully casual about it.”

“Miss, you saw the men in that jail. Half of them want to rape me, half want to lynch me. Some want to do both. I shower with them. Eat with them, sleep with them, shit in front of them. I _have_ to be a monster. If I don't, I die. You had to do the same, or you wouldn't be in that chair.”

Dany wanted to cry; another unusual feeling. “I’m not in this chair to merely sell bombs.” _But you knew that._

Aaron said nothing, but nodded solemnly.

“And this isn't _The Blind Side,_ ” she cautioned. “I’m not some white lady who rescues people as a DIY project.”

“And I’m not a project, Miss. All I need rescuing from is that jail. I want to lead soldiers for you. Kill for you. And I already know how.”

She eyed him for a minute, then buzzed her secretary. “We're done here. Bring in his guards.”

Aaron’s face fell. Dany hinted at a grin.

 _You're smart, but I'm always a step ahead._ “If you want to kill for me,” she pulled a pistol from her desk drawer, “start with your guards.”

Six years later, the puppy killer had proven himself so thoroughly that Dany could think of no one else to guard her most precious pet. Aaron stood before her, in a dark corner of a used car lot near the Miami airport. Like the men behind him, he wore a black suit, earpiece, and a Secret Service pin, borrowed from a fresh corpse.

“He gets cranky when he's tired,” Dany briefed him. She’d come straight from Jon’s hotel, and her face still smelled like Margaery. “It's adorable, for a while. When it gets old, remind him who he works for.”

Aaron nodded.

She took his hands in hers. “Guard him like you've never guarded anything else. None of this matters without him.”

“I’ve got him, Your Majesty.”

Dany, Bronn, and Missandei got into their used Mercedes SUV, purchased minutes prior, in cash. It was a decent car; simple enough to blend in, but nice enough to fit them comfortably for the long drive to Virginia. _Then home._ She’d rather have flown, but it was too risky. The world thought she was still in Baghdad, as did Cersei. _Fuck her, I’m going home. Then, I’m taking hers._

Bronn pulled out of the lot. “I can’t wait to see Your Clean-Freak Majesty in a Waffle House,” he chuckled, mostly to himself.

“I grew up common, you know.” _Sort of. Fine, not really._ She'd been roped into a few meals at chain restaurants as a teenager, but the last time she’d seen pictures on a menu was when she bounced around Japan for a month, just to get out of the house. _What was I supposed to do? Dad was being annoying!_

Dany spent most of the drive firing off emails to Varys and Tyrion. _I’ll need more advisors,_ she knew, though she was too tired to figure out where she’d get them.

Occasionally, she’d look out the window, as they cruised up through the Deep South. _Ew._ Dany had never liked the South, but the more she learned about Aaron's life, the more she despised it. They found themselves behind a pickup truck with plastic testacles dangling from the trailer hitch, a massive Confederate flag, and a bumper sticker, ‘No Snowflakes in the White House.’ Dany noted the license plate in her phone, adding ‘switch truck nuts with real nuts.’

They stopped at a Waffle House in South Carolina around midnight, to indulge Bronn's curiosity. Dany entered in her wig, a plain grey hoodie, and sunglasses. To his disappointment, she handled it fine, dutifully shoveling down her carbs and high fructose corn syrup. As she dredged her last piece of thin, overdone bacon from the pond of grease on her plate, her pocket vibrated.

 _Oh, look, it’s White Omarosa._ “Madam President.” She covered her mouth, so the troglodytes wouldn't hear.

“I’m calling to inform you that I’m terminating all of your company’s defense contracts, effective immediately.” _Extra cunty tonight._

Dany crunched her bacon, as rudely as possible, and answered with her mouth full. “Okay.”

“I just cost you billions of dollars, and broke your stranglehold over my military. All you’ve got for me is ‘okay’?”

Dany laughed. “You think everything’s about you. Except your son’s suicide. Which is ironic, because that was entirely about you.”

Bronn gave her a sassy finger-snap. Cersei answered with icy silence.

“Do what you want, but I strongly recommend you update your munitions guidance software. We don't provide tech support once the contract’s up.” She knew Cersei would do the opposite of whatever she ‘strongly recommended.’

“That’s a rather ham-fisted attempt to send me malware.”

 _You’d know. Your fist looks more like a ham every day._ But Dany had a soggy waffle to finish and a toilet seat to avoid touching, both of which were more pleasant than Cersei. “Suit yourself. Is that all?”

“That’s all.”

“Good. Have a vicodintini, it's past your bedtime.” She hung up, finished her waffle, had Bronn pay while she avoided the toilet seat, and met them in the parking lot.

Bronn opened the front passenger door for her. But as usual, after speaking to Cersei Lannister, Dany felt an overwhelming urge to fuck a face. Ignoring him, and too horny to think straight, she opened the rear door herself, folded the seat down, and yanked Missandei inside by the wrist.

“Oy.” Bronn hustled around to the driver's seat and pulled out as fast as he could, as Dany pinned Missandei on her back, and wrapped a seatbelt around her neck.

She was tired, so she made it quick, but no less brutal. “Do your job, and maybe I'll let you breathe again,” she growled, as she dropped her pants, pushed Missandei against the door, and climbed onto her mouth.

The seatbelt was slightly awkward, but Missandei's struggle to breathe made up for it. Every time she jerked her head, the belt grew tighter, and refused to give back an inch of slack. _Genius._

Dany pressed her palm down on Missandei’s forehead, holding her in place as her hips set their harsh, deliberate rhythm. “See? Even the fucking car knows! My will is stronger than nature itself. The more you resist, the harder I'll crush you.” She thrust her weight forward, slamming Missandei's head against the door. “ _Every. Single. Time!_ ”

 _Name one time that wasn't true. Name one, bitch!_ _I was born to conquer. To rule. To take what I want, and leave the scraps for everyone else._ And she wanted victims, and slaves; and to murder anyone who coveted her, because _only_ Daenerys Targaryen owned humans. As many as she required. She wanted empires; millions who thought they’d never be conquered, all prostrate at her cute little pedicured feet.

But at the moment, she'd settle for this girl's face. She sped up, as her breath slipped away from her, and her mind abandoned the impending conquest, bursting into a headlong sprint to the peak of ecstasy. Grunts and screams flew from her throat like exorcised demons, all tangled up with each other.

She could hear Missandei's screams, too. Pained ones, because that was her lot in life. _Harder. Never stop. No mercy for chattel._

With her last ounce of self-control, she grabbed the seatbelt and pulled hard with both hands, bouncing with all her weight as Missandei stopped trying to please her, and desperately gasped down just enough air for a few more seconds of life.

“ _I’LL KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!!_ ” The truth of it gave her the blinding pleasure that sent her over the edge. Dany loosened up, and rolled off of her slave, freeing her from the seatbelt as her sense of decency returned.

Missandei's neck had the imprint of the seatbelt all over it. _So fucking hot._ The decency drained right back out, and she pulled her slave toward her, tugging her pants down, kicking and squirming be damned.

“ _Did you think I was done with you?!_ ” Dany shouted, pinching her nose with one hand and covering her mouth with the other, as Missandei began to cry. _Fuck yes. Cry!_ They ground against each other, and Dany felt Missandei's heat and wetness against hers. _They all learn to love it._ She spat in Missandei’s face, to remind her how disgusting she was.

The next wave came quick and suddenly. Dany was halfway to her peak before she knew it, and blew right past the point of no return. She let out one long scream that sounded more like an old-school leg amputation than an orgasm. It calmed her somewhat, but she still wasn’t satisfied. _Teach her what she is._

She leaned down, buried her face between Missandei’s thighs, and devoured her. Missandei squirmed, though Dany could tell she was much less interested in getting away. _Have you learned what you are, yet?_ Missandei searched for something to hold, but found nothing, and settled for a half-second on the back of Dany’s head. _Oh, fuck no._ No one ‘guided’ Daenerys.

She rose instantly; furious. “Look at me,” she knelt between Missandei’s legs, using her fingers to taunt the girl with her absolute mastery over her. “ _Look at me!_ ”

Rightly fearful, Missandei obeyed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Who the _FUCK_ do you think you are?!”

“Nobody, Your Majesty!” She gasped and panted, as Dany teased and violated her. “I don’t matter! I’m nothing without you!”

“That’s why you’re _dripping_ wet, isn’t it? That’s why everything goes blank when I touch this filthy clit.” She demonstrated, and Missandei moaned in reflexive agreement. “That’s why this slutty little body is _mine!_ ”

Dany pulled her fingers back, forcing Missandei’s entire body to follow, then pushed them back in, deeper. Then out, then in, then out again. _That's it. Drag that pussy over here._ She circled her thumb over Missandei's clit, making her scream and stomp her heels against the floor.

“This is your life, now,” Dany explained, as Missandei writhed before her. “Until the day you die. Pleasure will be unbearable; pain your only comfort. I'll torture this cunt as I please, no matter how much you cry or fight or beg me to stop. But you _want_ that. That's why your pussy is throbbing so much.”

It wasn't, but it started to, as soon as Dany said the words. _I told you._ With a series of frantic nods, Missandei apologized for ever denying Dany's supremacy. But Dany wasn't interested in apologies. _Grovel for mercy with everyone else._ She bent back down, and worked Missandei's clit with her tongue.

 _Come for your master,_ her stare commanded, as that tight slave pussy clenched around her fingers. And her slave obeyed, loudly, gripping the seatbelt that had left those beautiful bruises on her neck, and letting out a plaintive scream, tinged with humiliation. _Like you ever stood a chance._ Dany pulled her pants up and climbed into the front seat, leaving Missandei to lay helpless in the back.

They slept at a motel in Bumfuck, North Carolina, and woke to frenzied reports that Margaery Tyrell would leave the presidential race and make an ‘important personal announcement.’ The talking heads predicted a health issue. Dany watched, smiling as her wannabe girlfriend came on and told the truth. _The truth I created for you. The only truth that matters._

Once Margaery was out of the closet she didn't know she was in, Dany had Bronn and the slave pack her things. In anticipation of her meeting with people who knew who she was, she dressed more like herself, in a [ Michael Kors dress ](https://imgur.com/YMS91Nv) and [ spiky-toed Louboutin pumps](https://imgur.com/b5uaeF2). Missandei serviced her again before they left, but Dany still felt tense as they drove.

She'd hoped that would dissipate after a proper fucking from Jon. It helped, but wasn't enough. _It's not hormones,_ she realized. _It's nerves._ The shit was rapidly approaching the fan, and the closer it got, the more Dany worried if it would splatter where she needed it. _You'd be an idiot not to worry,_ she reminded herself. _Don't let it get to you._

They reached Langley, and parked in the basement of an employee garage. Varys emerged from a dark corner, because he was Varys, and led them to an out-of-the-way conference room. Bronn and Missandei followed Dany inside, as her Monarchist plotters took a knee.

“Rise.” She was unusually disinterested in watching people kneel. “Sit.” Her servants stood at the far end of the room. Dany took her seat at the head of the table, and turned to Barristan Selmy. “Did Lannister say anything this morning about software updates?”

“Not a word, Your Majesty.”

Dany grinned. _Called it._ “Good. We'll release them to individual units as they flip to our side.”

Barristan nodded. “As Your Majesty commands.”

“Next…” Her eyes met Yara Greyjoy’s. _Damn right, you’re next._ Dany knew Yara from her business days. The obvious but unspoken sexual tension had probably made her a billion or two in unnecessary weapons sales, which made Dany feel like a Hooters waitress with a hundred dollar tip for some chicken wings, which was fine by her. “And you, my dear?” She batted her eyelashes. “What have you got for me?” _Besides that sweet thing between your legs?_

“The aircraft carrier _Harry Truman_.” _Mmmm, a big one._ “We'll launch the mutiny once the riots start.”

“You’re sure you can get thousands of sailors to mutiny?” _Because that’s hot as fuck._

“I like to divide and conquer.” _I do believe there's more than one meaning there._

“Oh, you’re that good?” Dany flirted, shamelessly.

Yara winked. “Better.”

 _Take it down a notch._ Dany gave her a long, lascivious smile, then turned to Gendry, the NYPD commissioner. “And the riot police?”

Gendry smirked. “What riot police?"

"Excellent."

"When it gets bad," Gendry continued, "Cersei will call in the National Guard. Selmy’s already flipped a squadron of Apache helicopters, so--”

Bronn groaned, loudly.

 _Not this again._ “Stop it,” Dany snapped. “It’s not racist, it’s a type of helicopter.”

“Would they call a helicopter the Black Guy?”

“He’s got you there,” opined Yara.

 _I'm pissed off, don't make me blush._ “When I win, we’ll call them ‘Bronn’ helicopters, how’s that?”

“Much better.”

After Gendry finished, Varys outlined his elaborate fake news strategy.

“People hesitate to join a cause,” he explained, “if they don't know anyone who's already joined it. So we'll saturate their Facebook feeds until they think they're the only ones left who haven't.”

“John Stuart Mill said something like that,” Dany remarked.

A voice piped up. “Locke.”

Dany took a second to realize who'd even said it.

Missandei recited the quote. “‘New opinions are always suspected, and usually opposed, without any other reason but because they are not already common.’ That was John Locke... Your Majesty… ”

 _Pray you’re right._ “Google that,” she commanded Bronn, as the room braced for a shitstorm.

Bronn got his phone. “Yup. Locke.”

 _Impressive._ “Where did you learn that?”

“Yale, Your Majesty.”

 _Nobody’s perfect,_ the Harvard girl joked, reflexively. _But still…_ “You went to Yale?”

“I competed against Your Majesty in the Model UN tournament.” She smiled. “We beat you, if I recall.”

 _Shush._ Dany snapped her fingers, and pointed to the empty chair at the opposite end of the table.

“You’re still my property, but I want you to speak freely.” Dany was rather dumbstruck. “Why have you never mentioned that?”

Missandei chose her words cautiously. “Your Majesty made clear that your slaves should not speak out of turn.”

“That might have freed you.” _It still might._

“Or not. If you were me, would you take that risk?”

 _Fair._ “What were you doing in the refugee camp where I found you?”

“I worked for UNICEF. I speak fluent English, I assumed you knew.”

 _Apparently, you overestimated me._ “And where did you learn this fluent English?”

“Florida, by way of Jamaica.”

Dany paused. “What do you think of me? Truly?” She was unaccustomed to caring about that.

“I think you’re terrible.” _We're speaking freely,_ Dany reminded herself. “You should be in prison for what you've done to me, and to Irri and Jhiqui.” _Who?_

“But holding you to commoners’ laws would squander a chance to do far more good.” Missandei sighed. “When I was younger, my sister was shot to death in her kindergarten classroom by a teenage boy, who was angry because he couldn’t get a girlfriend. He shouldn’t have had a gun, he shouldn’t have felt entitled to a girlfriend, and he shouldn’t have dragged twenty children into his suicide.”

 _I couldn’t agree more._ For all the joy she took in doing horrible things to the right people, the thought of anyone harming a child enraged her.

“The politicians said the teachers should have had guns. A week later, a teacher shot his whole family, then himself, and they said the family should have had guns, too. That madness has ruined far more innocent lives than you. If surrendering my body helps you destroy this system for good, then for my sister, Your Majesty, please stay terrible.”

 _This girl deserves a promotion,_ Dany decided. _But don’t tell her quite yet._ “That’s very kind of you. Back to your place.” She waved Missandei away, then pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it to Varys. “Your future King will be here in a few hours. Leave this for him in his car.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. And there’s one more matter to discuss. Your company has unwittingly hired an FBI agent as an intern in New York. She reports directly to the president.”

 _When life gives you lemons…_ “Is she hot?”

“I’m not in a position to--”

 _Oh, stop._ Dany made a face.

“Yes.”

“Good. Invite her to Greenwich tonight. And speaking of Greenwich, find me a helicopter.” _It's time to go home,_ and her patience for driving was wearing thin. She pointed to the door. “Now everyone out, except the Admiral.”

They all knew what that meant. Once they left, Dany hopped onto the table, crossed her legs, and raised her eyebrow at Yara, looking all cute and lesbian in her khaki uniform. “You made some bold claims earlier.”

“About the ship?”

“Come on, now,” Dany smirked. “You're a horrible tease.”

“You're right.” Yara pushed the Royal Knees apart, pulled the Royal Ass toward the edge of the table, and summarily removed the Royal Panties.

Dany leaned back on her elbows and shoved the sole of her Louboutin in Yara’s face. “Kiss.”

Yara hovered her lips over it, then grabbed her ankle firmly and stared. “There's eight thousand nerve endings in that clit of yours. How many are in this shoe?”

The question caught Dany off guard.

“Exactly.” Yara swatted her foot away, and mocked her accent. “Youah a _hahhhrible_ tease.”

 _This one's a different breed._ Dany knew it instantly. She threw her head back, gripping Yara’s hair and clenching her abs to support herself. Each little flick made her quiver, like Yara had her pussy mapped out from the day they met.

“Ah, fuck…” Dany squeaked, already slipping into the thrall of this woman she barely knew, who’d barely gotten started. Part of her hesitated. _Just give in, for once._

Yara seemed to read her mind, and pressed her advantage. She sped up ever so slightly, just enough purge Dany’s mind of every thought but one. _More._

“Shit. Jesus. Fuck.” Profanity was all Dany had. A mischievous giggle escaped Yara’s mouth, buzzing against Dany’s clit, almost mockingly.

 _No,_ she reconsidered. _Servants don’t toy with me like this._ Dany wrapped her legs tight around Yara’s head, and grabbed her hair. All that did was provoke her. Yara stood, kicked her chair back, and crawled on top of her.

“Careful,” Dany cautioned, in a shallow-breathed whisper. She stared coldly, but for maybe the first time ever, it did absolutely nothing.

Yara covered Dany’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up.”

 _I should shut the fuck up._ Her eyes widened. _Holy shit, I’m actually a little scared._ Very few people could make her feel that vulnerable. Jon could, but only when she pushed his buttons. Daario occasionally, when she was younger, and unduly infatuated. _I should fuck more actual lesbians._

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” Yara glared down, her fingers roaming between Dany’s legs, reading her weaknesses effortlessly, like they were tattooed on her forehead.

 _Yes, yes, please, I’ll be a good girl._ Dany nodded, grunting her promise into Yara’s palm.

“Kiss me.” Yara released her hand. Dany took a quick gasp, then ran her finger through Yara’s hair as she loomed over her.

The kisses weren’t as good as Jon’s. _No love._ But the gushing wantonness was more than adequate. Dany reached down as their tongues danced, and moved to unzip Yara’s pants. Yara smacked her hands away, and threw Dany’s arms above her head.

“Did I say you could do that?” _I’m sorry._ “You think I care who you are? You think I’m scared of you?”

 _You should be,_ Dany thought, despite her current state. _The diversion will only last a few minutes. Then I’ll be me again._

Before she could respond, Yara rolled her onto her stomach, pushed her dress up to the middle of her back, and gave her as firm as spank as she’d ever gotten. “Arms above your head!” Yara shouted, over Dany’s shocked moan. Dany obeyed, quickly, like a good girl. Yara unzipped the back of her dress. “Move that shit.”

Dany pulled her dress just enough to keep out of Yara’s way, and leaned back, sticking her ass up arching her back, like a cat stretching. _Hit me again. Please._ But wasn’t sure she was allowed to speak.

Then came the sting of Yara’s hand on her other cheek. Then came both hands, on both cheeks, at once. Dany felt Yara hop off the table, and press a spit-lubed finger slowly into her ass. _Shit, I can’t even think._ Dany’s cunt was suddenly engulfed by Yara’s mouth; her clit at the mercy of her tongue. Dany let out a long groan, punctuated with a “ _Fuck!_ ”

“You like it when I get right in that ass, don’t you?” Another spank, that made Dany yelp, and grip the edge of the table. “ _Don’t you?!_ ”

“Yes!” Dany confessed, as Yara’s other fingers found their way back into her pussy. She backed up. _Come on, please! Hit me! Fuck me!_

“You don’t want to conquer jack shit. You want to take it up the ass all day, like a cheap sailor’s whore.”

 _At the moment._ Dany nodded. “Uh huh…”

“Say it.” Yara took her finger out of Dany’s ass, and gave her another hard, two-handed spank. “ _Say it!_ ”

“I’m a cheap sailor’s whore…”

Yara spanked her again, then put a hand over her pussy and squeezed, hard. “Louder!”

“ _Ohhhhhh...FUCK!_ I’m a cheap sailor’s whore! I want it up the ass!” Dany’s couldn’t even say what her body was doing. _Whatever she wants it to._

Yara chuckled. “I’ll make a good girl out of you yet.” Her mouth went back down over Dany’s pussy; her finger back into her ass; deeper, harder. _Yes, like that. That’s how I want it. I’m a cheap sailor’s whore._ “You’re easier than you think.”

Dany closed her eyes and moaned again, as Yara’s tongue and fingers had their way with her. _Deeper. Come on. Please, deeper!_ Her ass clenched, and Dany backed herself closer against Yara’s face.

“You’re lucky I’m hungry.” Yara nipped at Dany’s clit with her lips, then flicked it with her tongue, and sucked.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God…” Dany felt her knees sliding apart, and tried to slide forward, but Yara wrapped her forearm around her legs and pulled her back. “Fuck, please don’t stop…” She didn’t even realize she’d said the until she heard herself. Nor did she anticipate the scream that punctuated them. _She’s got you._ Dany let herself relax, and succumbed for good. Yara sensed it, and triumphantly wiggled her finger deeper into Dany’s ass. “Yes! Oh, _shit_ , _YES!_ ” Her pussy pulsed, as Yara took her victory lap.

“Come for me,” Yara demanded. “ _Now!_ ”

 _Yes, ma’am._ Dany felt her face flush, and slapped the table with her palms, like a wrestler admitting defeat. She pushed her weight back, throwing herself at this woman’s mercy. _I won’t get any mercy, will I?_ Yara’s tongue moved to her ass. _Nope._ Two fingers slid into her pussy, finding the perfect spot in what seemed like an instant, as a thumb tortured her clit.

Dany shuddered. “Fuck, oh God, _FUCK!!_ ” She screamed a long, shocked, helpless scream as she hit her peak, certain that anyone who’d heard would mistake it for a murder.

Yara released her as she came down, then grabbed her legs and rolled her onto her back. Dany looked up, still catching her breath, as Yara dropped her pants. _Mmmm. Not that I have a choice, but mmmm._

Dany admired the view, until Yara pushed her forehead back, and mounted her.

“Eat this pussy.” She slapped her. “Stuck up cunt...”

That pissed Dany off, which she knew was intentional. Yara lowered herself onto Dany’s face, her hips wasting no time with gentle bullshit.

“Just like that,” Yara grinned down, riding her hard and fast. “That’s my good girl. Show me what a slut you really are.”

 _God, I’m such a slut._ So Dany showed her. Yara’s clit was already nice and hard, right between her lips. Dany dragged her tongue to match her rhythm, making Yara throw her head back and moan. _I’m a good girl, see? A good little slut._

“Suck.” Yara pressed Dany’s head harder against the table. _Yes. Use me._ She looked down at Dany and sneered. “ _Suck,_ pussy bitch!”

Dany pulled Yara’s clit into her mouth, flicking and stroking, desperately hoping to be her good pussy bitch.

Yara screamed and stared, as her hips abandoned mercy completely. “All over that pretty little face. Right where you _know_ you want it.”

Dany widened her eyes and nodded. Yara locked her head between her thighs and gave it to her, all over Dany’s pretty little face, right where she knew she wanted it. She grunted, loud and mean, gritting her teeth, flaring her nostrils, until she finally came down.

“Shit,” Yara exhaled as she climbed off and pulled her pants up. “I wish more straight girls were like you.”

 _I’m straight?_ “...Damn,” was all Dany had. She propped herself up and slid off the table, weak in the knees and dizzy. “That’s--I’m not normally like that.”

Yara gave her a ‘no shit’ smirk.

 _Careful, now. Playtime’s over._ “Slack on your protocol in public, and I’ll have you executed.”

Yara lost the smirk. “Oh, I know. You just looked like you needed your ass kicked for a minute. Everyone needs it sometimes. Especially when you’re about to start a war. It calms the nerves.”

Dany reassembled her outfit. “I hope you fight like you fuck.”

“I’ll have a finger up Cersei’s ass before she knows I’m there.”

“Try a fist.”

Yara cracked her knuckles. “As Your Majesty commands.”

“Also,” Dany’s voice froze Yara, and her eyes burned through her. “Next time, I’ll be ready.”

Once she’d fixed her sexed-up face, Varys escorted Dany and her entourage to their helicopter. They flew low and slow up the Acela corridor at dusk, past Baltimore, then Philly, then New York. Dany’s face was glued to the window as the lights of the cities glided across the horizon. _Mine, mine, mine._ But most importantly, _home._ Iraq had proven rather quaint, once she'd killed off the agitators, but nothing would ever compare to Greenwich, terrible family notwithstanding. _You're making your own family, now._ She felt her stomach. _Your own world to pass on to them._

It was dark when they landed in a remote field; greeted only by a few quick flashes of a car’s headlights, and ferried home by another agent to her estate. To avoid being spotted, they took the back driveway; an unmarked dirt road that wound for a mile through empty woods. Headlights off, they passed the stables, where her father kept all the damn ponies she never wanted, a tent covering a large hole in the ground to conceal her ‘special project’ under construction, and a barn that had previously served no purpose but to look rustic. But Dany had other purposes for secluded, windowless buildings _._

 _I’m home. I’m fucking home._ Her household staff knelt, as Dany came in through the rear entrance. Most were former mercenaries; civilized enough to blend into a town like Greenwich, and attractive enough to be ogled and objectified, like a good maid should. The ‘intern’ was there as well; a blonde named Doreah, about Dany’s size, but younger; allegedly a college senior. It was late, and Dany really just wanted to put on comfy pants and go to bed, but there was a goddamn threat to neutralize.

“Rise.” Not bothering to introduce herself, Dany stared down the new girl. _Deer in the headlights._ She tugged at her coat, and raised an eyebrow. “You want a job, right?”

Doreah gave her a confused look, muttered an apology, hung her coat, and slinked back in line. _Thank God you’re not really an intern._

“Turn around,” Dany commanded, like Howard Stern.

Doreah wore a dark green [ dress](https://imgur.com/a/qVFAnLh); tight, and above the knee, with a prominent gold zipper down the back. _Mmmm._

Her face was gorgeous, with deep blue eyes and good cheekbones. Her ass stuck out just enough to make Dany want to fuck it bloody; her breasts just enough to make her want to squeeze, pinch, and twist until she cried. Hair just long enough for pulling and dragging, and toned thighs and calves, accentuated by her Jimmy Choos. _I missed Stepford sluts._

Dany turned to the lead servant, a man named Jorah. He was in his fifties but still in good shape, and friendly, but not too friendly. _And obsessed with me,_ which meant he was in charge of hand-washing her most semen-filled panties. “Is the barn ready?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Dany snapped her fingers. “Golf cart.” She turned right around, Bronn and Missandei in tow, then stopped and looked at Doreah, already irritated. “Don't you want to see the barn?”

Doreah scurried to catch up, after another flustered apology.

“I didn’t know you were in the States, Your Majesty,” she babbled, as a servant drove them to the barn in a golf cart. “It wasn’t on your public schedule. Why are you here?”

"Nothing important is on anyone’s public schedule.” Dany kept her eyes forward. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m a business major, Your Majesty. I've read everything you've ever written. I've watched all your speeches. You’re so brilliant. So _right._ I don’t understand why so many people hate you.”

Dany rolled her eyes. “They’re scared of what I’ll do when I take over.”

“Take over what, Your Majesty?” _For Conan O’Brien._ “I don’t understand.”

“Most people don’t understand most things about me, until it’s too late.” _Like you._

“Well, I’m really eager to learn from you.” The servant dropped them at the barn, and drove off.

Dany smiled at the new girl. “Have you completed your mandatory sexual harassment training?”

“No…”

She shoved her hand straight up Doreah’s dress, holding it there, gripping tightly. Doreah tried to wiggle away, but Dany tightened her grip, freezing her. _Shy, are we?_ “First lesson. If you’re too eager, men will try to get away with shit like this.” She teased the girl with a middle finger over her panties, and cupped her cheek with the other hand. “Second lesson. I’m not a man, and I get away with shit like this all the time. So when I grab this little cunt of yours, you get it nice and eager for me. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she whispered, still squirming. Dany noted that, but let go, and headed inside.

The barn was nicer than most; spacious, and heated, with proper hardwood floors, lights hanging from the high ceilings, a big TV, leather sofas, fireplace, a small, open kitchen, and a loft. Next to some hardware drawers massive curtain hid an equally massive wooden structure along the side wall, but Dany ignored it.

 _Pay no attention to the gallows behind the curtain._ Dany put out a hand, blocking Doreah’s path. “Stop.” She walked behind her, unzipped her dress like a garment bag, and pulled it off. Doreah tried to fight, but Bronn gripped his pistol. As expected, the recording device fell with the dress.

But Dany ignored it, and inspected her new toy in its underwear; slapping, squeezing, pinching wherever she saw fit. Satisfied, she snapped her fingers and pointed to the couch. “Sit.”

Shivering, Doreah moved to kick her heels off. Dany grabbed her hair from behind. “Did I say take your shoes off?”

“No...”

“Exactly. _Sit._ ” Dany pushed Doreah toward the couch, and tossed the mic to Bronn. She followed the girl, as Bronn pulled a butane torch from a kitchen drawer, and melted the recording device on the marble counter.

Doreah sat, with her knees pressed tightly together. _How classy._

“So,” Dany folded her hands neatly in front of her. “What’s up your snatch?”

Doreah startled. “What?! Nothing!”

Dany crouched in front of her, and ran her hands up Doreah’s thighs. _Mmmm. Smooth. Toned. Shaking._ “No, sweetie. I can tell by the way you squirm when I do this…” She pushed Doreah’s knees apart, clamped her hand over her mound, and squeezed again. “Most little sluts just freeze, and hope whatever I do to them hurts less than resisting. But you’d rather fight. Why? Are you too virtuous to use your body to get ahead?” She pulled down the top of Doreah’s panties, and grinned. “No, too freshly shaven. Someone’s using it for something.”

Seemingly about to cry, Doreah shook her head violently, as if that would help. She clutched the sofa cushion, white-knuckled. “Please don’t,” she begged, as tears welled in her eyes.

Dany felt a familiar tingle. At her command, Bronn brought Dany the torch and a chef’s knife, then stood behind Doreah, pinning her shoulders to the couch.

“Panties off, dear, so I can dig things out of your pussy.” She pushed Doreah’s panties aside with the tip of the knife. “I’d rather do it the messy way, but I’m not sure you’re worth ruining this couch.” She turned to Missandei, standing a few feet back. “Find out what a new couch costs, while this girl _prays_ it’s too much to blow on mutilating her.”

Missandei bowed. “At once, Your Majesty.”

Dany turned back to her victim. “Spoiler alert, it’s never too much.” Her eyes narrowed. “So _strip!_ ”

Doreah had to fight her own tremors, but eventually slid her panties down to her knees. Dany grabbed them and finished the job with her knife, then commanded Bronn to hold Doreah’s wrists. She exposed the girl’s clit and touched it with the blade of the knife, lightly, but more than hard enough to make her point.

“I’m so close to finding out,” she whispered. “Doesn’t that make you want to piss yourself?”

As if her body had been waiting for the command, Doreah broke into a full-throated sob, and let her own filth run out of her, onto the floor.

“Ugh, you ruined the couch, anyway.” Dany teased. To avoid ruining her dress, she inched back until Doreah’s bladder was empty, then reached inside her with two fingers, and pulled out a small black thumb drive with her company’s logo. “Servants, close your eyes. Dead girls, open them.”

All terrified, the servants and the dead girl obeyed.

Dany turned back to Doreah. “I don’t even care what’s on this, you know. If you thought your cunt was off limits to me, you’re clearly not a very good spy.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, please let me go, please, please, please..”

Dany laughed. “Oh, no, you belong here, now.” As Doreah watched in terror, she heated her palm with the torch, then picked up the thumb drive, making it smoulder and melt as soon as it touched her skin. She snatched one of Doreah’s hands away from Bronn, pressed the girl's thumb against the melting plastic, and made a fist. “Like your thumb drive belongs _here!_ ”

Doreah shrieked and thrashed wildly. Bronn pushed her shoulders to the couch; Dany straddled her, pinning her lower body.

She clenched her fist tighter around Doreah’s thumb, and put her other hand on her neck. “ _Louder, cunt! Now LOOK AT IT!_ ” Dany released her thumb and showed it to her. The plastic had fused to her skin, swollen and bubbling.

Dany smiled, and held up her immaculate palm, and smacked her with it, leaving a red burn mark where it struck. She stood, commanded her servants to open their eyes, looked at Bronn, and pointed to the gallows. “Raise the curtain.”

Bronn found the appropriate rope, and obeyed. The gallows stretched floor to ceiling. The hangman’s post was made of a splintery old telephone pole and the noose itself dangled above a trapdoor about seven feet off the floor, reachable by a makeshift staircase.

“Jesus,” he muttered. _That how scared you should always be._

Doreah kicked, screamed and begged for her life as Dany pulled her off the couch, dragged her by the hair toward the gallows, and dumped her at Bronn’s feet. “Noose her up.”

Bronn looked at the flash drive on her finger. “How did you--”

“Shut the fuck up, that’s how.”

From a hardware drawer, Dany retrieved a pair of shackles, a spreader bar, and a length of straight barbed wire, with a makeshift grip made of copious amounts of duct tape on one end. She trotted up the steps to the platform, and watched Bronn fix the noose around Doreah’s neck. When he finished, she borrowed his hunting knife to slice off Doreah’s bra, shackled her hands in front of her, and locked her ankles into the spreader bar.

“Please,” Doreah wailed, “I’ll do whatever you want, _please_ don’t do this!”

Dany ignored her, and held the barbed wire up to Doreah’s chest. “I could tie this around your tits, and rip them right off,” she mused aloud.

“No! _No!_ I’m sorry. I meant what I said before. You’re right about everything. _Everything!_ I want to help you! Please let me go, I won’t tell anyone!”

“Honey, it’s far too late for flattery. You’ll die tonight, and that’s all there is to it. Now turn around.” Doreah started hyperventilating. Dany smacked her. “ _Turn the fuck around,_ and hug the pole you’ll hang from!”

The command made her cry again, but Doreah obeyed regardless, wrapping her arms around the pole as tightly as the shackles allowed.

“Feet on the trapdoor, in case I get bored.” This bitch was, after all, getting between Dany and comfy pants.

Doreah inched back, still in her heels, and clutched the pole at an angle, shaking uncontrollably. _Mmmm, yes. Shake that ass, before I shred it to pieces._

Dany drew her arm back, and unleashed a backhanded lash with the wire. The barbs broke the girl’s skin effortlessly, and made her shriek.

“Why am I doing this to you?!” Dany shouted, hacking away at Doreah’s back, at a quick but deliberate pace.

“To punish me for spying on you!” Her voice cracked, hoarse from crying. “Please, let me live, I’ll work for you, now!”

Dany laughed, and hit her harder. “Why would I punish _you?!_ You’ll be dead in ten minutes!” She hit her again, on that firm little ass of hers, then reached up her own dress, tugged her panties off, and tossed them aside. “I’m doing it because it _GETS ME OFF!!_ ” More slicing blows to that pert little ass of hers. “Don’t feel bad you won’t live to tell your boss, though. I’ll show her myself.”

Dany got her fingers good and wet, then walked up behind Doreah, locked her jaw open so she wouldn’t try anything stupid, and wiped her fingers on her tongue. “See? Getting murdered is yummy, isn't it?” Without waiting for a response, Dany removed her fingers, slid them down the girl’s body, and jammed them quick and deep into her cunt.

Doreah jumped, screamed, and tried to fight again. Dany slid her foot under the spreader bar and yanked Doreah's feet out from under her, then crouched over her limp body and pressed her face to one side.

“If you ever try to stop me from putting anything in those disgusting holes of yours again,” Dany bellowed into her ear, “I will scrape off your labia with a belt sander.” She lashed the girl’s back again, from directly above her. “Pick yourself up!” And again. “I said _pick your slut ass up, and hug that fucking pole!_ ”

It took a few seconds for Doreah to pull herself up to one knee, as Dany tore her back and ass apart, lashing relentlessly, over and over. Doreah lost a shoe. Dany cackled at that.

The dead girl launched herself toward the pole and collapsed against it, supporting herself with her own dead weight. She moaned pitifully, as her body gave out and slid downward against the pole, scraping her face and chest on the splinters.

“Don’t you fucking fall again…” Dany’s warning came with another barrage of lashes from the barbed wire. “ _HUG THE POLE!!_ ”

Doreah did her best to keep as close to a hug as her rapidly dwindling strength would allow, as Dany resumed the lashes to her thoroughly bloodied back. _Yes, feel your life bleeding out of you. Don’t worry if the room seems dim. That’s normal. I promise._ To switch things up, she aimed lower, striking Doreah in the calves, buckling her knees and sending her slumping back to the floor.

 _Well, that’s boring._ Dany tossed the wire aside and strode toward the pole, holding the lever next to it, that opened the trapdoor. “Should I do it?!” She stared down at Doreah, eyes blazing. “Should I end you?!”

Doreah nodded, which made Dany smile.

 _But do you understand the question? Let’s see._ Dany pointed to the ground in front of her. “Kiss my feet and beg, then.”

Doreah crawled a few inches on her elbows, wincing whenever something disturbed her new plastic thumb extension. She grabbed Dany’s leg, and planted a soft kiss on the top of her foot, where it met the leather of her Louboutin pump. “Please…” she whispered, “kill me.”

 _Mmmmm, fuck yes._ She almost did it. _But nothing’s that easy with me,_ so she smacked her other shoe against Doreah’s face, landing one of its spikes in her eye. “More.”

“Please kill me.” Doreah switched to the other foot, with one eye closed. “Please kill me.” Back to the first, slobbering all over it. “Please kill me, Your Majesty.” _‘How many nerve endings are in this shoe?’_ Yara had teased her. _Enough to make this feel fucking amazing._

Dany kicked Doreah in the face again, and dug her heel into her temple, as she curled up into the fetal position and launched into more sobbing. “Did I say you could stop?!” She kicked her in the tits. “If that was good enough, you’d be dead already!”

The kissing and begging contined.

Dany looked down and scrunched her nose. “No.” She snapped her fingers and pointed. “Stand, with your back against the pole, this time.”

Doreah whimpered, lamenting that she was so shitty at begging for her own death. But she did as commanded, and dragged herself up against the pole.

Dany crouched on one knee, removed the spreader bar, lifted Doreah’s quivering legs onto her shoulders, and forced herself into a standing position. Doreah screamed more, as her already ravaged back dragged up against the wood. Dany congratulated herself on doing that in heels, then got to work, teasing Doreah's clit with her tongue.

“No,” cried the dead girl. “No, no, no…”

 _She’d rather die than get her pussy licked._ That was beautiful. Dany looked up at Doreah’s body; its eyes closed and head craned up to the ceiling. To deny her the luxury of pretending this wasn’t real, Dany narrowed her eyes and growled. _Look down. You can’t escape me. No one can._

This one was no exception. “No,” Doreah pleaded yet again, through quick, shallow breaths. “No. Stop. No….”

Dany pulled her mouth away and grinned up. “Why? We both know I’m the best you’ve ever had.” She went right back to Doreah’s clit, dragged her tongue against it, and sucked.

“Don’t don’t don’t, _ungh!_ ” Doreah shook, arched her back, and grabbed Dany’s head, pulling her closer. _See?_

Waiving her ‘don’t touch my head while I’m eating your pussy’ rule, Dany let the girl guide her. The forced pleasure brought the strength back to Doreah’s legs; she wrapped them tighter around Dany’s head, as her hips began to buck.

 _That’s it, show your weakness at the worst possible time. Let me walk right in and claim you, like the rest of my empire._ Dany’s tongue slid back and forth, side to side, noting every shudder, every quiver, every little moan her victim failed to hide. Without letting up, she snapped her fingers in Missandei’s general direction, and make a jerk-off motion with her fist.

“At once, Your Majesty.” Missandei’s heels clicked against the floor, as she hurried to fetch Dany’s toy. _Fuck, I should have had her get comfy pants, too._

While she waited, Dany shut out the world and put all her attention into hurling this woman’s body to an orgasm, willingly or not. And as hard as she fought it, Doreah slowly succumbed. Her clit hardened and pulsed; her hips ground faster against her face, in ever more brazen defiance of her mind’s disgust.

Doreah screamed, sucked her breath back in through her teeth, then screamed again, then let slip an “aah, ungh, _NO!!_ ” Dany purred softly to herself. _Too late. That’s the theme of the evening. Too. Fucking. Late._

The girl gave up hope, all over Dany’s chin, just as Missandei reached the top of the platform. Dany stepped away, let the girl drop like a slab of meat, and held her hand out.

Her heart beat faster, as the Black Dread landed in her palm. _God, I need this._ “Unzip me,” she commanded Missandei, never taking her eyes off the spent flesh at her feet. Once naked, save for the shoes, Dany slid the bulbed end of the Black Dread inside herself, adjusted the fake shaft until her fake cock was firmly in place, and kicked her doomed slave in the gut. “Up!”

“I can’t,” Doreah answered, after a long, pitiful gasp. “Please, I can’t. No more, _please._ ”

“Fine, I’ll rape you right there.” She turned to Missandei, mindlessly poking Doreah with her heel until she found a shoulder, then rolling her onto her back. “Stay close,” she said, picking up Doreah’s shackles so Missandei could hold her arms above her head, “and wait for my command.”

“Always, Your Majesty.”

Dany kicked Doreah’s legs apart, and turned on the Black Dread’s vibrator. _Fuck, that’s good,_ she thought, as she penetrated the sobbing, spying whore. The girl was too weak to resist, and merely closed her eyes and turned her head to the side. Dany started slow. _Pace yourself,_ she insisted, as the vibration overtook her body. With the Black Dread, Dany had a tendency to go too fast, too soon, turning what could have been a prolonged, multi-orgasmic torture session into a quick, rough rutting; like a nature documentary.

She reached behind, grabbed the barbed wire whip, and smacked Doreah across her burnt, tear-soaked cheek. “Look at me.” All Doreah could do was moan. Dany leaned forward, and spat. “I said _look at me_ while I cut you!”

That got her attention. Dany snatched her bra from the floor near Missandei, used the padded cups as a makeshift grip for her other hand, and them shoulder-width apart, with the wire nice and tight between them. Doreah’s eyes were as wide as they could get, when Dany laid the wire across her chest, but they closed again, when she scraped slowly downward from her collarbone. Doreah arched her back, flailed, and shrieked to high heaven.

“Mmm, you like that,” Dany decided for her, as the barbs dug into her skin, drawing parallel red lines down her chest that blurred together when the blood started to flow. Missandei put a foot on her shoulder to keep her from getting away. _A sweet thought, but she’ll stay put._ Dany kept up her slow, deep thrusts, watching Doreah’s hips writhing against her vibrating cock.

“You need this cock, no matter how bad it hurts. You can’t help herself. Look at you! Look what I’ve made you! I’m shredding your whole body up, and you still need me in your pussy!” Dany dragged the wire over her breasts and down her stomach.  She tossed it aside again and leaned down, licking the blood from Doreah’s chest and dumping it into her mouth with a long, deep kiss over terrified, exhausted sobs.

Dany felt herself pulsing around the Black Dread, and abandoned the effort to pace herself. _Oh, well._ She pressed her forehead against her victim’s, gripped the noose, and pressed it hard against her neck. She could feel her own eyes growing, her nostrils flaring, and her face contorting into that horrific smile which only murder could bring out. _Don’t stop until it’s done,_ she reminded herself, but she doubted that would be a problem. _This one deserves it._

“See that?!” Dany growled, as Doreah’s face turned purple. “I broke you, now I’m _taking_ you, while you lay there, too weak to stop me.” She spat in her face again. “One down, a billion to go.”

As it often did, the thought of conquest lit the fuse inside her, and Dany’s clit hijacked the rest of her. Her vision turned red, and she thrust away, grinning and growling as Doreah’s moans filled her ears; pain, hate, terror, and pleasure, all in one mess of a noise that only a woman about to die could make. _Come on,_ she urged, pounding relentlessly at Doreah’s cunt. _So close. No turning back. Do it._ She slid her hands under Doreah’s arms and clutched around her shoulders, as the pleasure became too much.

“Now!” She barked at the last second, through her own screams. “ _Pull it! Kill her!_ ”

Gravity pulled her suddenly downward, as lust sent her mind into the clouds. The Black Dread fell out, but it didn’t matter. Dany wrapped her legs tight around Doreah’s waist and dragged her clit wildly against her abdomen, screaming a dark, visceral scream at her climax. She pulled her weight downward, hard, to snap this cunt’s neck as quick as she could.

As her body relaxed, Dany released her legs, kicked her shoes off, and hopped down, catching her breath as Doreah gagged, twitched, then simply dangled there. Sated, but still raging at Cersei Lannister’s gall, she gave the swinging corpse two final punches to the gut.

“ _FUCK!”_ She screamed, between punches. “ _YOU!_ ” Finally done, she stepped away, pacing in a circle and collecting herself.

Bronn and Missandei looked down from the platform, slack-jawed. Even Bronn looked terrified. _Stay that way. Always._

“Cut that bitch’s thumb off, and send it to Cersei Lannister,” she wiped her brow. “And somebody get me some _fucking_ comfy pants!”

They returned to the main residence, where somebody got her some fucking comfy pants. Dany thought about sleeping in the master bedroom, last occupied by Viserys, and her father before him. But it felt strange, so she slept in her childhood bed, tininess and horrible memories notwithstanding. _New memory: I murdered that piece of shit. I’m done sharing beds with monsters._ It was the best sleep she’d ever gotten.

She slept until nine the next morning, texted Jon a cryptic _‘Gayest road trip ever’_ , and went through her prenatal workout routine. After her shower, she joined Missandei in the living room, watching Jon announce her pregnancy to the world. She’d expected to find it cute, but when he spoke, she felt an unexpected terror. _This baby’s actually happening,_ she realized. _And the world’s not nearly ready._ Missandei moved to kneel between Dany’s legs as soon as it was over, but Dany stopped her.

“You said some beautiful things yesterday. Things I certainly didn’t expect, given the circumstances.” Part screening for flattery, part fishing for validation, Dany continued. “People say I’m worse than my father. Some even use the H-word.”

Few people were worse than Aerys, and one of their names started with an H. “Hitler put people in camps, and made a continent of refugees. You gave refugees their homes back, and closed their camps for good. Hitler told people that all their problems were someone else’s fault, and to solve them by giving in to the worst parts of their nature. You say their biggest problem _is_ their nature, and forbid them from giving in. Hitler left Berlin full of empty, ruined buildings. The only empty buildings in Baghdad are the skyscrapers they haven’t finished yet. You’re many things, Your Majesty. Good and bad. But you’re not Hitler.”

Dany was genuinely touched. She’d always known she was both batshit crazy and absolutely right. But nobody had expressed it that well. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Your Majesty isn’t sorry about anything else. Why start with her? Be angry, like I am. You do your best work angry.”

She put her hand on Missandei’s knee. “If I’m ‘Not Hitler,’ I think I’d like you to be my 'Not Goebbels.’”

Missandei blushed.

 _One last test._ “I’m about to shoot down a plane to frame Cersei Lannister for my brother’s death, and promise retaliation. If you were me, what would you do next?”

“Well,” Missandei flashed a hidden slyness. “It seems she owes you a brother.”

 _Great minds think alike._ Dany snapped her fingers, and pointed to the floor between her legs. Missandei knelt. Dany grabbed her hair, pulled her close, and glared. “Make this quick, Not Goebbels.” The glare changed to a smile. “We’ve got a debt to collect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it’s not obvious, Aaron is Grey Worm. I can write about hot, sadistic, fireproof billionaires restoring monarchies, but my suspension of disbelief ends at a man in 21st century America going around calling himself Grey Worm.


	9. Jaime I

Tyrion groaned, as the band started its rendition of [ _Deep in the Heart of Texas_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWgXLfno7o4) _._ Jaime glared. _Please don’t make a scene._ The singers were from a Mormon church, where the bishop was a vocal advocate of gay conversion therapy, and most of the band were former patients. That caused quite a kerfuffle when they were invited to the White House for his and Cersei’s birthday, and the last thing he needed was another kerfuffle.

“They’re not very good,” Tyrion whispered.

Jaime shrugged. “I’ve heard worse.”

A smirk crept onto Tyrion’s face. “I meant the therapists.”

Jaime snickered, and Lancel scowled from across the table. _Were you hoping they'd fix you?_ He turned back to the stage and pretended to enjoy the music.

The song was an homage to what Cersei had declared at the age of forty to be their home state. Their family owned a house in Texas, as they did many places. But Texas was by far the most appealing to Republican primary voters, so for as long as Cersei had political ambitions, the Lannisters were Texans, and not to be messed with.

On his left, Cersei clapped along, pretending she hadn’t grown up in Chappaqua. Lysa Arryn sat next to her, pretending not to be deeply uncomfortable. The British PM had been described as ‘Margaret Thatcher without the looks, charm, or compassion,’ and Jaime found such description quite accurate.

Lysa was there to show solidarity against the madwoman who claimed sovereignty over the nicer bits of the English-speaking world. The Republican nominee for Cersei’s successor, Randyll Tarly, was also there. So was Jon Snow, for ‘bipartisanship,’ though he was somewhere in the cheap seats. Jaime suspected he’d rather be anywhere else, as he was fifteen points down in most polls. His unborn oops-baby had not gone over well, forcing him to constantly demonstrate he was still on the ‘Side of Freedom,’ and Cersei was more than happy to provide many inconvenient opportunities to do so.

It had been five months since his announcement, and the murder of Daenerys’s brother, though she had yet to deliver the promised retribution. She’d been remarkably quiet, and hadn’t appeared publicly in months, supposedly ‘resting’ on the advice of doctors. Her intel services had caught the FBI agent in her company’s New York office, as evidenced by the thumb in the mail, but both sides kept that private. Otherwise, it seemed like business as usual, and Varys found nothing to suggest she was planning anything.

As for why, popular theories ranged from ‘she’s all hat and no cattle,’ to ‘she’s at a Waffle House in South Carolina,’ to ‘she’s hoping voters forget about her, and elect Jon Snow as her puppet.’ The latter was most plausible, but least likely. It was October, the baby was due any day now, and the media was ready to fawn all over that kid.

That was what Cersei found most troubling. Liberal bias, or greed for ratings, or whatever, had made the them increasingly fascinated with Daenerys. With her staying silent, their primary source of information was the Snow campaign, which fed them plenty of charming bullshit about how he’d offered to drop out of the race, but Daenerys told him to do what he thought was best for the country; and how she resented people criticizing their decision not to marry, ‘as if a billionaire Queen still isn’t complete until she’s a man’s property.’

Being gorgeous, charming, and undeniably more competent than current American leadership, only made it worse. She’d developed a cult following in the States, among a strange mix of feminists, law-and-order types, and corporate interests who found big-spending autocrats easier to deal with than a stingy, divided Congress. In public, Cersei dismissed that as anathema to modern notions of how government ought to work, but she’d seen the polls, and the social media buzz. ‘Jesus started out with a cult following,’ she often said, ‘and two thousand years later, I’d still be out of a job if I didn’t lick his asshole.’ _Speaking of Jesus and licking assholes, just enjoy the gay Mormons._

Tyrion had consumed too much of the flask of Johnnie Blue in his breast pocket to hide his contempt for the ‘Lonestar Schtick,’ and improvised his own lyrics. “No one believes; you’re really from;” _*CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP*_ “deep in the heart of Texas! So drop the act; you washed-up cunt;” _*CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP*_ “deep in the heart of Texas!”

 _Funny,_ Jaime had to admit, _but she’s right here._ He clutched his brother’s arm. “Quiet, she’ll hear you!”

“Ow!”

“Sorry, new hand.” The original was on someone’s roof in Tripoli, having been lost years ago, when he botched the ejection from his shot-up F-14. As the president’s brother, he was excellent product placement, and constantly being fitted with the latest, greatest prosthetic. [ This one ](http://bebionic.com/the_hand/) functioned almost exactly like a real hand, but it was freakishly strong, and Jaime was still getting the hang of it. So far, the biggest change was an uptick in jokes from Tyrion about being ‘from deh fyootcha.’

Tyrion had enough sense not to start another verse, but still managed to squeeze in one last round of passive-aggressive clapping.

“Why are you even here?” Jaime asked him, once he’d calmed down a bit.

Tyrion laughed. “Why did she invite me?”

“Excellent point.” He’d humiliated her when he resigned as ambassador to Iraq, and now took every opportunity to talk shit about her on camera. _Family values, or some nonsense,_ Jaime supposed.

Tyrion took another sip from his flask. “Let’s get some air.” He stood, and tugged the arm of Jaime’s tuxedo, like a child.

“Is that code for nicotine and tar?”

“...No,” Tyrion answered, sheepishly. “I’m on a health kick.”

 _I didn’t know fermented corn was part of a juice cleanse._ “Fine.” They slipped out quietly, ignoring the death glare from Cersei.

“How is Lady Macbotox, anyway?” Tyrion asked, as they strolled down the open-air West Colonnade toward the Oval Office.

“Her term’s almost up, everyone hates her, and she's eight years older and ten pounds heavier. How do you think she is?”

“Bad.” Tyrion hopped onto a bench near the Oval Office, where two Marines guarded the entrance.

“To put it lightly.” Jaime joined him, sitting a few inches from one of the guards.

“It’s going to get worse, I’m afraid. For both of you.”

Jaime sighed. This late in the game, Cersei had only one scandal left that anyone would care about. “Please tell me you didn’t leak the affair. I know you hate her, but she’s destroying her legacy just fine on her own.”

“I didn't. But, dude. Watch _SNL_. Everyone believes the rumors. The damage is done.” Tyrion cracked his knuckles. “You’ll be okay, though. I’ve been assured.” Jaime spotted two Secret Service agents walking quickly toward them. “You’re a means to an end. Grin, and bear it.” His eyes grew deadly serious. “Grin. And bear it.”

 _What the fuck is he talking about?_ Before he could ask, the Marine next to him made a gagging sound. Jaime looked up. “Are you alright?”

The bayonet protruding from the side of his neck suggested he was not. He dropped to the ground, as the other Marine lunged toward Jaime. Before he could react, the Secret Service agents grabbed him, and jammed a needle into his arm.

Tyrion looked up calmly from the bench. “She likes dogs,” was the last thing he said, before everything went dim. “And _Arrested Development_.”

The next thing Jaime heard was a Reveille on a bugle. _Should I get up?_ He was groggy and apparently blindfolded, but seemed to be on his back, in what felt like a bed. Reveille notwithstanding, however, bedtime was not over. His arms were each restrained above his head, and something was digging into his skin on his right arm.

After the bugle, for some reason, came a vaguely familiar piano chord. _This must be a dream._

A bunch of kids started singing. “We run, we jump, we swim and play...” [ _Where have I heard that song_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s-SE96Q9dDU) _?_ “We row, and go on trips.”

A woman sang along with the piano. “Bum bum bum…” _I know that voice._ He remembered something about being at the White House. Tyrion was there. Somebody stabbed somebody in the neck. _Yeah, it’s a dream._

The kids went on. “But the things that last forever...”

The blindfold came off, and Daenerys Targaryen grinned down at him, lip syncing. “Are our dear friendships!”

“What the fuck is this?!” But Jaime’s words were stifled by a gag. _Remember, it’s a dream._

She sat to his right, propped up against a bunch of pillows in what appeared to be her own bed, with an iron headboard to which Jaime was restrained. On his left wrist was a simple handcuff. On his right, where he could slip out of his prosthetic, was barbed wire, wrapped tightly from forearm to shoulder. He was otherwise naked.

Barefoot, Her Alleged Majesty wore an old tank top, and maroon University of Minnesota sweatpants. _No makeup, no bra, hair a disaster._ There was a strange beauty to that.

She paused the iPad that rested on her very pregnant belly. “I know this is a rather unorthodox kidnapping, but I just found out _Salute Your Shorts_ is on Netflix, and I’m _royalty,_ and I’m _pregnant,_ and for the next twenty-two minutes, _this_ is what we’re doing.” She unpaused her 90s kids’ show.

“Camp Anawanna,” the kids sang, “we hold you in our hearts. And when we think about you…”

Some little asshole with a mullet cut off everyone else. “It makes me wanna fart!”

Daenerys tugged a metal leash, suddenly and violently, and shouted at whomever was on other side of the bed. “It’s ‘I hope we never part,’ now get it right, or pay the price!”

Jaime couldn’t see who it was, but he had his suspicions. She rolled over, to the extent she could, and launched into a makeout session. _Ew._

“I'd just like to point out,” said someone to his left, “that ‘Camp Anawanna’ makes a mockery of Native American languages.”

“Get the fuck out!” Daenerys replied, mid-makeout.

 _Okay, this is definitely a dream._ Tyrion’s old bodyguard leaned back in his chair with his feet on a desk, wearing a black uniform and vaping his little heart out. _And since when does he give a shit about Indians?_

“This is the least crazy she’s been in weeks.” Bronn smirked, stood, and mussed Jaime’s hair. “Good luck.” With that, he left.

After the strangest twenty-two minutes of Jaime’s life, Daenerys finished her show, and handed her iPad to the man on the other side of the bed. The junior senator from Minnesota sat up and stretched. _How did he get to Baghdad?_ Jon Snow had cameras following him everywhere. _You’re dreaming, idiot!_

Jon stood, in nothing but boxers and the leather collar to which his leash was still attached, and fished his clothes off the floor. He ignored Jaime entirely, and looked at his watch. “I should get back to Pennsylvania.” The blackout shades and lack of clocks meant Jaime had no idea what time it was.

Daenerys looked at Jon, suddenly worried. “This is the last time I'll see you before--”

“You’re right, it is.” Jon looked worried, too.

She pulled his leash closer. “Come here.”

Still ignoring Jaime, Jon crawled on top of her. They made out like goddamn teenagers again, for way too long, until Daenerys broke the kiss and unhooked his leash. She held his face in her hands, and teared up a bit.

“You’ll be brave for me.”

That’s when Jaime noticed the [ engagement ring](https://www.jewelrypoint.com/2-45ct-black-diamond-red-ruby-engagement-ring-antique-filigree-style/). White gold, a black diamond in the center, and a line of rubies on either side. _He can't hold elected office if he marries her._ The Constitution’s ‘Titles of Nobility’ Clause had been talked to death on TV. _He knows he'll lose the election. That, or there won't be one._

“I’d die for you.”

Daenerys touched her belly. They both looked down, then back into each other's eyes. “I need you alive. For her.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed, and a determination came onto his face far more intense than his pollster-approved ‘determination’ face. _Scary, actually._ “And I’d _kill_ for her.”

She smiled. “You will.”

A third makeout session ensued, after which Daenerys removed her fiancé’s collar, and allowed him to dress. Only when Jon was halfway out the door did he bother to acknowledge Jaime. “You’re not dreaming.” _He knows from experience._ “Do exactly what she says, or I’ll deal with you myself. And I won’t be so sexy about it.”

Daenerys sighed and composed herself as the door closed behind him, then removed Jaime’s gag and smiled down. “He’s just modest. He’ll be egregiously sexy about it.”

 _Bond with your captor._ “So, it’s a girl, then?”

“Mhm.” Her smile grew, and for a second, Jaime felt happy for her. “But enough ‘bond with your captor’ nonsense.” She rolled on top of him and smacked him in the face, then grabbed his nipples and pulled hard enough to lift him toward her. “Let’s talk about my father.”

Jaime suddenly wanted nothing but to get the fuck away from this woman. It wasn’t the pain; if he could jump out of a burning airplane with one hand missing, he could endure a nipple pinch. _It's the eyes._ Everyone knew they were purple, and he'd seen them up close before, back at some fundraiser. But he'd never really looked at them before, and immediately regretted doing so.

Conventional wisdom assumed she'd inherited some fucked up chromosome from centuries of royal inbreeding. But it wasn't just the purpleness. Their shape was off; not quite catlike, but still somehow inhuman and predatory. The shade seemed to change with her mood. Her pupils seemed to know where his would go before he did. They looked like something was moving around behind them, ready to leap out of her skull and eat his face for lunch. And when she narrowed them, it was like she'd cocked a gun against his forehead.

With the gun cocked, she gave his nipples another twist. Jaime sucked his breath through his teeth and restrained a scream, to keep up the brave facade.

 _Alright, let’s talk about your father._ “He was evil.”

After his discharge from the Navy, Jaime’s slightly less evil father landed him a nepotism job as a ‘policy advisor’ in Aerys Targaryen’s White House. Jaime knew nothing about policy, and Aerys had no use for advice, but it gave him enough access to reveal what a monster the man truly was. He was so terrible, in fact, that Jaime's usually dormant conscience compelled him to leak his crimes to the _Washington Post._

Like his daughter, Aerys came to power promising to restore ‘order,’ in his case by ‘controlling degenerates and stopping illegal immigration at its source.’ In practice, that meant finding excuses to bomb countries and jail people that didn't fit his preferred ‘color scheme,’ and hiding his motivations behind a web of pretexts, intimidation, and outright lies.

Also like Daenerys, he had a penchant for murdering those he found inconvenient; mainly journalists, and those who might testify against him. But unlike his daughter, Aerys at least had the decency to make his murders look like accidents.

“Oh, total asshole,” Daenerys agreed. But she pinched harder, anyway. “But I had nothing to do with that. Yet I spent years being tormented, ostracised, lectured to, and humiliated for it.” Harder. “People still try to make me answer for his crimes” Harder. “Even though mine are much more interesting.” Harder, still. _And I thought I had daddy issues._

The scream finally came out, as she broke skin, and Jaime felt a trickle of blood down his chest. But Daenerys showed no sign of relenting, and the longer and harder she pinched and twisted, the louder and more violently he screamed and squirmed.

“So?!” She shouted. “How will you make it up to me?!”

 _Fuck this._ Jaime spat up at her, but missed.

“No, I’ve already got a man’s spit all over me, thank you.” She released him, and looked toward the desk where Bronn had sat. “Icy Hot and a cheese grater, please!”

 _What?_ From under the desk, a young girl in nothing but a pink robe and a metal dog collar rose from her knees and scurried from the room. _Where the fuck am I?_

He tried to stay defiant. “Do you have any idea what my sister will do to you?”

She shrugged. “Meh.”

“Don’t be so cocky. She’s--”

The girl came back with a handheld cheese grater and a spray bottle of Icy Hot. She handed them to her master, and disappeared under the desk.

“Your sister doesn’t understand what she’s up against,” Daenerys replied, casually spritzing some Icy Hot on the cheese grater. “Neither do you. Yet.” She put the bottle aside, moved the cheese grater down to his balls and held it there, squeezing them with her free hand. “I know several ways you can make it up to me, one of which _doesn’t_ involve zesting your balls off.”

“I’m not ratting out my sister. I don’t care what you do to me.”

She grunted and dragged the grater against his balls, hard and fast, like starting a lawnmower.

 _Okay, maybe I do care._ The blades of the cheese grater were bad enough. Then the Icy Hot kicked in. Blinded from pain, Jaime shrieked and twisted, but she pushed her weight down on his knees, pinning him. “Fine!” All the twisting against the barbed wire had made his arm bleed, but that was ancillary, at the moment. “Fine! _What do you want?!_ ” _Cersei will forgive me,_ he lied to himself.

Daenerys tossed the grater aside, and ran her hands slowly, softly down his chest. “You have nice abs, for a man your age.”

“You want to fuck me, then.”

“I _want_ to force Viagra down your throat, beat you half to death, and rape you until I get bored. But with you, rape alone would squander an opportunity.” She wiggled down toward the foot of the bed. “That’s just borrowing you without your sister’s permission.” She squeezed his cock. “I’m going to _take_ you from her.”

The look in her eye made her intentions obvious. “If you think one blow job will undo--”

“I think no such thing,” Daenerys insisted, kissing and toying with him. “This is just to flood your brain with chemicals that make you stupid.”

 _What?_ The Queen’s warm, wet tongue did its job, despite the burning sensation just below, and the hate and disgust in his mind. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying in vain to convince himself that he was bracing to resist the pleasure.

“There are all sorts of drugs for that,” she explained, after a long lick straight up his shaft, “but that wouldn't be as traumatizing. Nor would it make my point.” She took him inside, and teased the head with her tongue.

 _Different,_ was his first thought. He'd never been with anyone but Cersei, and at first, he wasn't very impressed. Daenerys’s tongue seemed to wander around aimlessly, missing the good spots, or hitting them from the wrong angle. _Alright, so what's your point?_

Then she found one, betrayed by a soft growl from Jaime. _Blind luck._ Daenerys seized on it, and lingered; pressing, stroking, flicking. Slowly, then fast; softly, then hard, until she had him wanting more. Needing it. Ready to beg for it. _And she knows it,_ he could sense. But she ignored it, and hunted down the next weakness.

He tried to wiggle toward the headboard, like he could somehow sneak away. But a slow, deep scratch of her nails down his stomach, and the jig was up.

She stopped and stared up at him. “Nothing your sister does to you is special. How long did that take me to figure out? Thirty seconds? _Maybe?_ ” She resumed, slow but deliberate, until he moaned and twitched again. “Anybody can do it. Watch.” She stood, and snapped her fingers.

The young girl in the robe and collar popped back up and hustled over, dropping right back to her knees in front of Daenerys.

She pointed between Jaime's legs. “Show him how even a subhuman cunt can ruin a man with her mouth.”

The subhuman cunt was as good as her master. Jaime moaned against his will as the girl sucked. _Against your will, too. If you still have one._

Daenerys walked to her nightstand, and pulled out a butane torch and some wire cutters. _This does not bode well._ She sat next to him on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair. “I bet Cersei likes to babble on about your incredible, forbidden romance.” _You'd win that bet._ “How it's so dangerous; so inimitably special; worth all the trouble you go through to hide it from a world that would never understand. But other than that you happened to have fallen out of the same twat together, you’re actually quite boring.”

Jaime's affair with his sister had been called many things, but ‘boring’ had never come up. It hurt, and he wanted to argue, but stopped himself when the slave girl took him deeper into her throat than Cersei ever had. _Feels too good. Why pick a fight?_

She slid the wire cutters around a piece of barbed wire. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

 _No, but apparently you are._ He shook his head.

“Good.” She snipped the wire, just once.

Jaime shook his arm back and forth, trying to extricate himself as quickly as he could. Mildly amused, Daenerys ignored him, and lit the torch. She did that thing with her eyes again, and he felt like a rat being fed to a snake.

“What are you doing?! _What the fuck are you doing?!_ ” He kicked the slave girl away, suddenly much more concerned with his life than his dick. But Daenerys just smiled and blew him a kiss.

It took him a few seconds to realize what was happening. _I thought this wasn't a dream._ But shit like this only happened in dreams. The flame was bright blue, but she seemed almost bored, waving it lazily over her hand like a can of bug spray.

 _Maybe she’s a welder._ Welders used a spray-on gel that absorbed tremendous heat, to avoid melting the wrong pipes by accident. But she'd have to use a fuck ton to protect her skin, and Jaime didn't see any, nor did this woman strike him as the welding type.

Her eyes caught his. _I didn't know they got scarier._ “Oh, this is real.” She waved the flame around in front of his face, guiding it toward his mouth like a spoonful of food to a reluctant baby. The closer it came, the more he felt the heat. _Holy shit, it’s real._

Jaime winced, and tried to pull away, as the flame grew perilously close to his face. He screamed for help. _That girl will save me._ But the girl simply knelt at the foot of the bed, eyes to the floor, right where she’d landed after he kicked her off. He could feel his lips go dry, and the heat turn to a painful, burning sting. He pulled away further, but she abandoned the chase, and moved the flame back to her hand.

“See, _this_ is special. _This_ is worth hiding from a world that wouldn’t understand. People are more comfortable with a run-of-the-mill tyrant than a demigod. This is Plan B. If I'm on Plan B, I'm done caring about comfort.”

Jaime finally managed to get his arm free, but simply held it there, no longer sure what to do with it.

Daenerys extinguished the torch, held his forearm still, and barked over her shoulder to the slave. “ _Suck his cock!!_ ” She turned back and grabbed Jaime’s arm, pulled his prosthetic in front of his face, and wrapped her heated hand around it.

On instinct, he tried to pull his hand away, but her grip was too strong. His mind filled with a million thoughts, each more terrifying than the last. He decided to hide from it all, and close his eyes.

“Look at me,” she commanded, calmly at first. But with the girl’s mouth on his cock; warm, wet and skillful, his eyelids felt sewn shut. “ _LOOK AT ME!!_ ”

Her voice ripped his eyelids right out of their stitches. Jaime opened his eyes, and found hers waiting. “I told you there was more to this than a blow job,” she growled quietly, in that sort of voice that grew more menacing the quieter it got. “Your sister has no idea how fucked she is, does she? You’re mine to take from her, like everything she’s ever had.”

His hand, with its melting point of two thousand degrees, dripped over her fingers like an ice cream cone. _There's no gel._ The sensors and circuits all went dead, as the heat spread down to the base, warming the stump of his arm.

“Tell her about this. Let her think you fell for some stupid trick. Can you do that for me?”

Jaime nodded, paralyzed by fear, and his own sad craving to keep that mouth on his cock.

Her Majesty nodded along. “And you will. Because I told you to. And that's how your little world works, now.” She squeezed her fist tighter. “ _Right?!_ ”

Jaime felt nothing, but saw the smoldering liquid that used to be his hand, rapidly approaching the bare skin of his arm. “Yes! Yes! _Yes!_ ”

“From now, until the day you die.” She released her grip, wiped up most of the melted carbon composite between her thumb and forefinger, then smiled and made for the door. “I have to pee.”

Jaime confirmed there was no more liquid dripping from his stump, then realized he was still getting his damn cock sucked. He shook his body, to get the girl's attention. “Hey! Stop! Uncuff me, and I'll save you, too!”

The girl shook her head. “No.” She pressed her elbows into his thighs to pin him in place, and went on sucking.

 _Fuck it, enjoy the blow job._ It was better than what he'd just witnessed, and in comparison, sex against his will seemed like the least of his problems. _Wallow in it. Let it numb you, like every other man in the world._ It occurred to him, possibly for the first time in his life, that he was, in fact, just like every other man in the world. _And Cersei is every other woman. Just like Daenerys said._

That put him in the mood for wallowing, and the long, slow strokes of this poor girl’s tongue stuited it well. Every time he inched closer to finishing, she slowed down, waited until the boil dissipated to an increasingly achy simmer, then resumed. There was no wicked look in her eyes. No rhetorical ‘oh, you like that?’ No commands to beg. Just a girl sucking a cock, like his maid dusting a mantle. Polite, but palpably humiliated that such was her lot in life, and terrified that the lady of the house was lurking somewhere, ready to take issue with her attitude, or some minutia in her technique.

Daenerys came back, with a half-empty glass of water. She sat next to him, grabbed his right arm, and dipped the still-smoldering plastic into the water, instantly boiling it and shattering the glass on his chest.

“Oh, fiddlesticks!” She swept the broken glass onto the floor with her hand, then pulled her slave off Jaime's cock by the hair. “Roll around in that. It's funny.”

Without bothering to watch the comedy show, Daenerys dropped her sweatpants, and straddled him. “I’ve been tired a lot recently, so let’s skip the beating, and go straight to the rape.”

 _Not that I’m surprised, or stupid enough to resist, but…_ “I thought you said you wouldn’t do that…”

“I said rape _alone_ would waste an opportunity.” She slapped him. “Pay attention!”

“I’m sorry!” Jaime seethed. _Her palm is still hot…_

“You know what's funny?” She ignored the apology and teased the head of his cock, slowly lining it up beneath her. “You're too scared _not_ to be hard.” She took him inside. “It's ‘get fucked or die.’ and your body knows it.”

“Just tell me what you want…” He exhaled, trying to conceal the pleasure, but failing miserably. “Please.”

Daenerys looked down, as her hips rolled nice and slow. “What does Cersei think about me?”

 _Oh, like you don’t know._ “She despises you.”

“Mmm.” She smeared some residual blood from his nipples across his chest and stomach, then licked her palm. _Ignore how sexy that was._ “But why?”

“You want to topple her, and become a dictator.” His phantom right hand went instinctively to her waist. _It’s still hot. You’ll hurt her._ Then he remembered who she was. _So hurt her!_ Then he remembered why it was hot to begin with. _You’re fucked._ The phantom hand didn’t care. It wanted to feel her skin, and the curves of her body, and guided his arm to rest on her thigh. _There’s so much wrong with all of that._

Daenerys made a face. “Nah, she probably admires me for that.” She ran her own hand up his arm. “Try again.”

 _Tell her what she wants to hear._ “She's scared of you.”

“As she should be. But statistically, she should be much more afraid of some loner in a book depository.” She gripped his arm, and stared. “Why isn’t she?”

Jaime sighed. _Your pussy’s too good for guessing games._ “I assume you have a theory?”

Her Majesty grinned, and rested her other hand on his chest. It was still hot, but tolerable. “She's scared of turning into Darius III, or Pharnaces II, or Wanyan Chenglin.” Something about that turned her on, and she moaned softly and sped up.

“Who?”

“Exactly.” She moaned again. “If I lose, she’s a great president. If I win, she’s some bitch I curb-stomped to build my empire.”

 _God, I wish I could feel you._ That was a terrible thought. _I don’t care._

“Her biggest fear is being forgotten,” Daenerys went on, riding harder, but pacing herself. “Her kids are dead, so all she’s got are you and her legacy. Without the legacy, just you. Without you, nothing.”

 _Maybe she deserves nothing._ Jaime felt his hips start to move with hers. _No, don’t get off on this. Why are you getting off on this?!_ Cersei was undeniably a cunt, but she did have some goodness in her.

Daenerys and that pussy of hers cut him off before he could find examples. “She clings to hope that in a thousand years you’ll be famous for dying in each other's arms as the barbarians stormed the gates. She thinks her soul and yours will live forever as one. So I’ll rip her fucking soul right out of her, because I get off on that shit.”

Jaime looked up at her, and those damn eyes. _For fuck’s sake, stop finding this sexy._

“And you're going to help me, or I'll find something else to melt.” She clenched herself around his cock, in a not-so-subtle threat.

He grunted, and snarled a bit, which made her face light up. _‘That’s it, make me happy.’_ She didn’t say it, but he heard it anyway. _‘Crawl your ass over here, kneel at my feet, and watch me destroy her.’_

“You don't want to, yet. You'd do it, but only out of fear.” _I like the fear._ “But that's understandable. You've been fucking her for decades. It's all you've known.” _Teach me something else, then._ “Just like democracy is all you've known.” _Goddamnit, teach me!_

“But your republic is as dried up and spent as your sister’s cunt.” _It’s true._ “What do you think she’ll do when the dragon banners are outside her window? Hold a referendum? Debate me on the merits? Step down, because ‘The People Have Spoken’?”

“No, Your Majesty.” _That felt right. Admit it._

“Fuck, no. She’ll murder thousands in the streets to stay in power.” She slapped him, for no good reason. _So did that.._ “But why does she deserve that?”

“She doesn’t, Your Majesty.”

The Queen’s eyes blazed with that unnatural beauty he found so terrifying and crippling and irresistible. So he stopped resisting, and let himself lay there, terrified and crippled. The rest of her was just as gorgeously scary, pregnant and vulnerable as she was. Each thrust of her hips seemed to take him deeper, until his cock felt detached from the rest of his body; a phantom, like his hand. He could feel the perfection, but was powerless to react.

“The people she’s supposed to serve are poorer, stupider, and more desperate than when she started. Are they really fit to choose her successor? Read Plato, and Tocqueville, and Tytler. I’m not the first to speak the truth. I’m just setting things right. She’s living proof that your system of government is a failure. So I’ll destroy that system, and her with it.”

His cock throbbed at the thought; more urgently with every thrust of this woman’s hips.

Her voice shook with malice. “Because I’m younger than her, and hotter than her, and _right._ You know it, and you love that. I can feel it. Everything I’ve said should disgust you, but you’re hard as a rock. Show me how much you love it. Show me right in the pussy.”

 _Okay._ He could feel himself pulsing, as the rest of the world slipped away.

She hit him again. “ _Now!_ ”

His body obeyed before his mind could process the command. For an instant, he tried to hold himself back; a desperate attempt to cling to the tired old lie that his sister was the only woman worthy of him; a lie born not out of love for her, but fear of the future. Then he saw those fucking eyes again. _She is the future._ And everything crumbled.

Jaime moaned, grunted, screamed, and arched his back, spilling himself into her, watching her face as she took what was hers. _Cersei will be devastated,_ he thought, as he hit his peak. _Good._ That alone yielded another burst or two, until he finally came down.

Daenerys looked down at him, smiling a dark, evil smile as he softened inside her. “Key!”

The slave on the floor dragged herself up to her knees; her face riddled with tears; her body with tiny cuts from the glass. _She actually did that,_ he realized. _She literally rolled around in broken glass._ It wasn’t ‘funny,’ as Daenerys had said, but it wasn’t as unfathomable as it would have been before. _When she tells you to do something, you do it._

Her Majesty slowly caught her breath. “Uncuff him.” The slave obeyed, and she turned back to Jaime. “I’m cleaning up your sister’s mess. You clean up your own.”

 _When she tells you to do something, you do it._ Maybe that was some divine mandate. Maybe there was no such thing, and Her Majesty was simply, objectively, right. Maybe it was neither, and he’d just finally met a more stubborn, ruthless cunt than Cersei. _Whatever it is, it’s the natural order._ As soon as his arm was free, Jaime slid his face beneath her; his mess dripping onto his chin, then his lips.

He started slow, like Cersei preferred. _Fuck Cersei, and fuck what she prefers._ That woman married a dude she didn’t love, and fucked half of Washington, for her own ambitions. She made Jaime watch his own children live and die in front of him, but forbade him to tell them the truth. And for what? To fly around in a fancy plane for eight years? To prove a woman could run a country into the ground as thoroughly as a man? _Eat this crazy lady’s fireproof pussy. Treat yourself, for once._

So he tossed Cersei from his mind like trash down a chute, rested both arms on Her Majesty’s thighs and his left hand on her waist, and listened to the way she moaned, felt how she rocked, and tried only to learn. Daenerys leaned forward and grabbed the iron bars of the headboard to support herself, already breathing heavy, moaning softly, and guided his tongue with her body. He chased her clit, but stopped himself. _Clean up your mess,_ he remembered. _When it’s time to service her clit, you’ll know._

He tasted himself; thick, salty, and mixed with her. It wasn’t the first time--Cersei often demanded it when they were younger, claiming it would keep her from getting pregnant, though Joffrey was proof to the contrary. _She never believed that shit,_ he realized, _so why did she say it? Why not just ask? Why is it always subterfuge?_ He cursed himself for wondering. _She’s weak. Too weak to lead._ But this woman wasn’t, so he lapped himself up like a whore, hoping to impress her.

“Mmmm,” the Queen sighed. “You like being my cleanup boy? Jon and I could use one.”

With Cersei, that was where he drew the line. A stray bit of Robert Baratheon found its way onto his tongue once, and that started a hellish fight.

 _Who are you to draw lines? You’re lucky she hasn’t killed you._ So he nodded. “Mm hm…”

Daenerys moaned. “Fuck, yes. That’s what you are, now.”

 _That’s what I am._ He nodded again and sped up. His tongue wandered back to her clit, to hear that moan of hers again; to savor the joy of knowing he’d pleased her. _Slow down, cleanup boy. You’re not done._

Until he was. Daenerys took a hand off the headboard and gripped his hair, squeezing her thighs around his head and riding his face, more determined to come with every buck of her hips, and less concerned with teaching him, or letting him breathe. _That’s fine. You don’t matter. Not until she’s done._

Her fingers tightened, and tugged, the ball of her palm pressing against his forehead. “ _Lick it,_ bitch boy! Who owns you, now?!”

Jaime dragged his tongue against her clit in response, then sealed his lips around it, and flicked, and sucked.

“Fuck, that’s good…”

That felt better than anything Cersei had ever said to him. The pleasure he gave her was a boyish impulse. They were two hormone-addled bodies in close proximity, though they’d spent years denying it, pretending it was more. _You’re an adult, now. Her Majesty is too strong to deny, and has no time for pretense._

Her moans turned louder, and longer, and blossomed into screams and growls. “You’re _mine,_ and she’ll never get you back.” He could feel her clit pulsing. “I want her to cry when she smells me on your face.” _Me, too,_ he promised, with another worshipful stroke of his tongue.

That sealed it. She threw her head back and shouted, almost like she were in pain, then slammed her weight down and forward, flooding his mouth, and his chin, and his cheeks. _More, more, more… Please, more…_ She gave him all she had, screaming loud enough to hurt his ears, ironclad thighs notwithstanding.

She came down from her peak. The slave girl lay still and silent on her back, still on the broken glass. Daenerys stepped hard on her stomach as she dismounted, picked a shard off her foot and shoved it in the girl’s mouth, then dragged her out by her hair.

Jaime caught his breath. Guilt washed over him, though he could tell it was merely the last gasp of his former self. It passed the moment Her Majesty came back, and began to dress.

“You’re serviceable,” she declared, donning a more work-appropriate black maternity pantsuit. “I’d like you, if you weren’t you. Now let’s see if you’re good for anything else.”

From a corner, she tossed him the wrinkled-up tuxedo he’d worn for his kidnapping. He put it on, minus the bow tie and coat, because Her Majesty had decided he looked cute with his top button open. Once dressed, she led him downstairs.

 _This isn’t Baghdad._ He’d suspected that, but now he knew it. Most mansions in Baghdad weren’t colonials, most backyards weren’t so green, most autumn mornings weren’t so crisp, and most trees weren’t so full of red and orange maple leaves.

“Beautiful day!” She smiled and took his hand as they strolled down a gravel path, flanked by Bronn and another guard. Daenerys had them forego the shackles, and for a woman who’d nearly scraped his sack open with a kitchen gadget, she was downright charming.

“So this is Greenwich?”

“Mhm.”

“How long have you been here? And how did Varys miss this?”

She grinned, mischievously.

“Gotcha.”

A few minutes down the road was a barn, near what looked like a large drainage pipe that covered a thick steel door in the side of a small hill.

“In you go,” Daenerys gestured, as the guards opened the door.

Jaime stepped cautiously inside, and down a long flight of concrete stairs. “Is this your Hitler bunker?” He half-joked.

“All Hitler did in his bunker was lose a war.” Her voice turned deadly serious. “I’ll do no such thing.”

At the base of the stairs was a massive, circular, concrete room. A metal folding chair with a newspaper on the seat was set up against a wall, facing camera, TelePrompTer, and lighting equipment. The room was otherwise empty, save for three restless Dobermans, and six evenly spaced, identical metal doors along the wall. Each had a TV monitor above it, but all were blank. The dogs ran to their master, and the guards closed the door to the stairs behind him, making seven identical doors. Were it not for the camera, he'd have had no way to orient himself. _That's the point,_ he assumed.

The guards led him to the chair, and set the newspaper in his lap. Daenerys gave him the once-over, then turned to Bronn as the other guard set up the camera.

“He's too clean,” she decided, petting her dogs. “Fuck him up.”

“You got it.” Bronn punched Jaime in the face, knocking him out of his chair.

“More.”

He kicked him in the jaw.

“That's good.”

Cut, dusty, and swollen, Jaime picked himself up and went back to his chair. _Don't whine._ He imagined she'd hate that. _Don't be a burden._

“Hold the newspaper as your proof of life, and read from the teleprompter. Easy peasy, yes?”

Jaime nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.” The camera’s red light went on, and he began.

“My name is Jaime Lannister, the twin brother of President Cersei Lannister. I am a hostage of Her Majesty Daenerys Targaryen, as retribution for the unprovoked murder of her brother, Prince Viserys.” He held as still as he could, as the dogs pawed at him, sniffing his face and his crotch, like they found it funny. Her Majesty stood behind the camera with a wry smile.

“Queen Daenerys has promised to keep me alive, but I am not being treated well in the least. I say this not from bravery or defiance, but because Her Majesty commanded it. Her justice is swift, and harsh, but righteous. It comes to all who stand in her way, no matter how powerful or cunning they think they are.”

“To my sister: give up. Step down. Save yourself, while you still can. Queen Daenerys is ordained by God and destiny to rule us, and you know it. Endure the humiliation of kneeling before her in public, and she might find that amusing enough to spare your life. Condemnation won’t stop her. Sanctions won’t stop her. All the weapons at your disposal won’t stop her.”

He held up the melted remnants of his hand, because it seemed appropriate. “You don’t understand what you’re up against. You can’t understand until you see for yourself, and in your case, that will be far too late.” _You won't have the luxury of melting painlessly._

“I can no longer support you, because I no longer love you. We shared a womb, and a decades-long affair, and three children. But they’re all dead, and that’s your fault. I can’t love a woman who chooses vain cravings for power over the lives of my children, and I can’t fight for someone who thinks the American public is stupid enough not to see our love for what it really is.”

“To the soldiers my sister will order to defend her: would you be fighting for ‘freedom,’ or a broken system that's brought you nothing but stagnation and decline? For ‘democracy,’ or the right to choose a leader powerless to truly make your life better?”

“It’s over, Madam President. You’ve lost. Accept the fate Her Majesty has chosen for you, or she’ll choose something worse.”

To Jaime's surprise, the light stayed on. Daenerys nodded at Bronn, who walked in front of the camera, punched Jaime in the face again, and dragged him off.

Daenerys took the chair as Jaime picked himself up, and got right down to business. The dogs sat next to her, perfectly still. “Despite the strength of my claim, I make Cersei Lannister the following offer: appoint Jon Snow as your Vice President, then resign immediately. Let him govern for four years, then let your people decide what to do next, by free and fair election. If that happens, then in four years, I will permanently renounce my claim to rule anywhere beyond Iraq. Turn yourself in at the Iraqi embassy, confess your crimes, and I’ll spare you the death penalty.”

“To the American people: My offer allows you to maintain your system of government indefinitely. Should your president reject it, I shall press my claim by any means necessary. If it's so important that you continue to govern yourselves, then govern yourselves accordingly.”

The red light went off. “Send that directly to the White House,” she commanded Bronn. “No TV, no YouTube.”

Jaime looked at her sideways. “Why not? She’ll never air that publicly, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Daenerys smiled. “I just want to freak her out a bit.”

With that, she led him upstairs and back to the main residence, where some sad, balding man in a kilt made Jaime the best eggs benedict he’d ever had, with a frisée salad and a selection of fresh scones. “Eat as much as you want. Airplane food sucks; even mine.”

“Where are we going?”

Daenerys let her poached egg run over her salad. “ _You’re_ going to Baghdad, for an hour or so, to pretend you were there the whole time. Your sister will send a plane, then it's back to Washington.”

 _But I don’t want to go to Washington._ He belonged with his rightful Queen, not ‘her.’ “Why not keep me as a bargaining chip?”

“Because any minute, now, your sister will call, and threaten war if I don't release you immediately. I’m scared of her, so I’m backing down, because that’s totally something I’d do.” She winked. Like clockwork, the phone rang. Garnishing her words with obscene hand gestures, Daenerys admitted to crossing a line, swore up and down that she didn't want war, and promised to hand Jaime over at the Baghdad airport the next day; the word ‘hand’ punctuated with air quotes and another wink.

A few hours later, Jaime found himself in Baghdad, marching across the tarmac to an Air Force cargo plane, holding a giant teddy bear in an ‘I’m Sorry’ t-shirt, with a huge bottle of Grey Goose tucked under its arm. _‘Because she’s just so fun to troll.’_ Some doctors took his vitals once they were airborne, and a CIA officer asked him what he’d seen, but he lied through his teeth like the loyal subject he was.

Cersei greeted him at Andrews Air Force Base, all smiles and tears of joy for the press, but turned icily silent the minute they got into the car.

Jaime tried to break the tension with a joke, because he was an idiot. “Watch any good videos lately?” Cersei was not amused. “I didn’t mean any of that, you know. I--”

“You had a gun to your head. Whatever. It’s fine.”

Jaime took a deep breath. “Look, Cersei, you--”

“I was ready to go to war for a man who said he doesn’t love me.”

 _Yes._ But the way she said it made him pity her, so he stuck with the lie. “You said it yourself, I had a gun to my head! What was I supposed to do?”

“ _Take the fucking bullet!_ Do you know how much easier that would have been?! I could have bombed her into oblivion, and no one would have stopped me. She’d have gone down as a crazy cunt who messed with the wrong woman, and I’d have saved democracy. Now she’s got you on tape admitting to the affair.”

 _You’re mad I didn’t die for your political convenience, and I’m the asshole?_ “She won’t--”

“I should have left you there to rot, until that bitch got bored and killed you.”

“Well, you didn’t.” _And that may have doomed you._

They each stared out their respective windows for the ride back to the White House. _Thanks for asking about my hand, by the way._ Cersei only looked away when she saw the sad collection of well-wishers outside the gates; two old ladies holding ‘Welcome Back Jaime’ posters, with hearts dotting the i in his name, and pictures of his face cropped onto a shirtless male model. _Tyrion probably paid them._ And it was clear who was paying Tyrion.

Qyburn met them when they got inside, and Cersei dragged him and Jaime into the Oval Office.

“The war’s still on,” she announced. “She has to go. She’s making me look like an idiot.” _Look like?_

For a man hired specifically to indulge her stupidest delusions, Qyburn was surprisingly cautious. “With all due respect, Madam President, you’ve got three months left in office. We won’t have troops in place for at least two. Even if everything goes perfectly, we won’t take Baghdad for another two.”

“Then assassinate her, and blame it on someone else.”

“We can’t find her.”

“You can’t _find_ her?!”

“Varys doubts she’s still in her palace, but there’s no trace of her anywhere else.”

“Send SEAL Team Six to that Waffle House,” Jaime chuckled, fresh out of fucks to give.

“Shut the fuck up!” Cersei slapped her desk. “You were with her, where was she?!”

“In a windowless basement, dear.” _About a half hour from where we grew up._

Qyburn tried to keep things on the rails. “The story in the press is that you stared down Jon Snow’s crazy girlfriend, and got your brother back. But now that he’s back, there’s no need for war. Starting one anyway is the only thing that could swing the election back in his favor.”

“Fine, then.” Cersei folded her arms. “We won’t have an election.”

Qyburn looked to Jaime for help, but Jaime shrugged. _Daenerys is playing her like a fiddle._

“A major party’s candidate fathered a child with a hostile dictator. There’s no constitutional precedent for this. We’ll hold the election when Daenerys is dead.”

“That might take years,” Qyburn warned.

“And?!”

 _Alright, I’m done._ Jaime stood. “I’ll have no part in this. I’m going upstairs for a nap.”

“I can have you arrested for treason!” Cersei shouted. Jaime answered with a dismissive middle finger on the way out. _Smell my chin, bitch._

It was dark by the time he woke from his nap, and Cersei was nowhere to be found, for which Jaime was grateful. He turned on the TV.

 _‘LANNISTER SUSPENDS HABEAS CORPUS,’_ read the FOX News caption. The screen above showed a mob of protesters setting up tents in Times Square, as riot police watched idly from the sidewalk.

According to the anchors, someone had leaked the news that Cersei was planning for war, despite Jaime’s return. The White House refused to deny it, and had the journalist arrested for asking. Hell--all of it--was about to break loose. _I take one little nap..._

 _‘BOMB SALLIE MAE,’_ one sign read. _‘NO WAR FOR SPITE,’_ said another.

A third had Cersei’s head photoshopped onto Fonzie on water-skis. _‘AMERICA JUMPS THE SHARK.’_ Jaime liked that one. _Uncanny resemblance, when she doesn’t shave her legs._

“Hippies with nothing better to do,” Cersei declared, suddenly looming in the doorway. “They’ll be gone by morning.”

“You’re sure about that?”

The awkward silence answered for her. “I’m not done with you.” She left in a huff before Jaime could respond, and stomped down the hall to her separate bedroom.

Jaime stood, and looked out the window. Crowds were gathering in front of the White House, and in the park across the street. Realizing it was probably a bad idea to stand by the window, he went back to the TV. The NYPD had brought in armored trucks, but the crowd dug in, forming a human chain along Broadway. The trucks stopped, and a cop got out. He had no riot shield, kept his hands up, and said something to the crowd. More cops joined him, each carrying crates of water bottles. _These people aren’t going anywhere._

Washington, however, was a different story. Tanks rolled up Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol towards the White House. Actual tanks, with actual cannons. Flanking them on either side was a line of what may have been cops, or soldiers; he couldn’t tell for sure. Protesters met them around 13th Street, about three blocks from the White House, and the battle was joined. Molotov cocktails flew in one direction; tear gas in another. Clubs met baseball bats. Bricks met storefront windows. Torches met cars. The lead tank fired warning rounds from the machine gun on the turret, scattering some protestors. _‘What do you think she’ll do when the dragon banners are outside her window?’_

They tried to regroup in a park between 13th and 14th Streets, ironically called Freedom Plaza, only to be met by more soldiers, and more beatings. Still more tanks parked directly in front of the White House. Bonfires lit up in the park.

“We need to leave!” Jaime shouted down the hall. “Fly to Camp David until this dies down!” _Or until she finds you there._

Cersei emerged from the master bedroom in her pink Brooks Brothers pajamas, toothbrush in hand, as if this were any other night. “Whose side are you on, here?! Do you have any idea how that would look?”

Jaime glared at her. “Your obsession with how everything ‘looks’ is what got us into this.”

“And it will get us out. We have to show them we’re not afraid.”

“Aren’t we?”

“ _No._ ” She shoved the toothbrush in her mouth and walked away.

The news cut back to Times Square, where things were quite different. The protesters were still there, and the cops, but neither seemed particularly interested in confrontation.

“They’re with us,” a protester declared to a reporter on the street. He babbled on about justice, and peace, and the usual protester babble, until the anchor in the studio cut the interview short.

“We’re getting word that Senator Jon Snow is suspending his campaign, and will make an announcement shortly.”

“Are you watching this?!” Jaime shouted down the hall again.

“No, dear, I’m watching cartoons!”

Jon Snow spoke from a desk with a wall of fake books in the background, looking sweaty and worried, like he’d rather be somewhere else.

“In light of recent developments,” he began, apparently too preoccupied for a greeting, “I’ve decided to end my presidential campaign effective immediately.” He paused, apparently for dramatic effect. “And to pledge myself to Her Majesty’s cause.”

Cersei slammed her door.

“It’s now clear that the turmoil in this country can no longer be solved by an election. If this war goes on, it will cripple the next president, whoever that may be. There will be no time or money for anything else. The nation will divide itself into factions, too stubborn to agree on even the most basic issues. Those factions will battle to a stalemate in Congress, while the sick go without medicine, children go without education, roads go unbuilt, research goes unfunded, and the rich grow richer on the backs of the poor.”

_‘I’ll destroy that system, and her with it.’_

“We’ve been taught since childhood to fear the return of a monarchy. But our greatest presidents all ignored the limits of their power, and that’s what made them great. Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and both Roosevelts, all made power grabs many thought were unconstitutional. But without those, this country would be a slave-owning backwater, crippled by its own disunity.”

“Queen Daenerys’s subjects have no Bill of Rights, but they do have a future. They have taxation without representation, but they also have free healthcare. They have no due process, but they have roads, schools, and hospitals. She’s not the tyrant. We are. ‘We, the People’ have become three hundred million petty dictators, each trying to plunder the treasury for our own greed, and calling anyone who tries to stop us a traitor. Only Her Majesty can free us from the bondage of our own worst instincts.”

“What I'm suggesting will likely involve violence. That's unfortunate, but sometimes, it’s necessary. ‘We, the People’ are her people, too, and it’s time to act like it.”

Cersei opened her door and shouted down the hall, to no one in particular. “He just called for the violent overthrow of this government! That’s the _definition_ of treason! Find him and put him in prison!” She swooped into Jaime’s doorway again. “Where is he?!”

Jaime looked up. “How should I know?”

Cersei gave him the once-over. “I don’t know, but I know you know.”

“You’re cute when you’re scared shitless.”

“Fuck you!”

He turned back to the TV, where nobody knew what to say about any of this. Hours later, the cameras returned to Times Square, where the cops were passing out full-blown meals from the countless chain restaurants nearby, though it was well past closing time.

The homemade posters were still there, but they were joined by a growing number of banners. Black ones, with the unmistakable red emblem in the center. And new posters, with the personal gripes and digs at Cersei replaced with a single, simple, unified message: _‘Long Live The Queen.’_

Cersei stood in Jaime's door yet again, surrounded by Secret Service, with a bulletproof vest draped ridiculously over her pajamas. “I’m going to Camp David until this dies down.” _Exactly what I suggested, hours ago._ “You stay here.”

“So that’s what you’ll do when the dragon banners are outside your window.”

“What’s  _that_ supposed to mean?!”

Two agents picked her up by her arms and hustled her along. Jaime laughed, and wondered if those were even real agents.

It only got worse for her from there. Margaery Tyrell followed Jon's lead, and ordered the California National Guard to ignore any orders from Washington. Tyrion tweeted a plea for his sister to step down, saying she'd ‘lost legitimacy.’ The USS _Harry Truman_ had stopped responding to radio calls, and an anonymous YouTube account posted a video, supposedly showing the crew hoisting a dragon banner.

 _I’m not useful here,_ Jaime decided, just before dawn. On White House stationery, he scribbled a note, and left it on his bed. _‘I left willingly. No manhunts, please.’_ Though he knew there would be one, anyway.

Carry-on bag rolling behind him, Jaime strolled wordlessly past a swarm of armed guards, right out the North Portico, and down the driveway toward the guard shack by the wrought iron gates. _The visitors’ entrance. That’s all I ever was, anyway._ The stretch of Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the grounds was still lined with tanks, and soldiers milling about.

“I’m sorry, sir,” a Marine in full combat gear blocked the door. “Nobody enters or leaves without the president’s permission.”

“I’m not nobody,” Jaime answered.

“It’s not safe, sir.”

“I got abducted ten feet from the Oval Office. It’s not safe anywhere in this country.”

“These are my orders, sir. It’s for your own protection.”

 _Oh, shut the fuck up._ “Cersei Lannister is not my mother. She’s not really my sister, anymore. She’s my crazy ex girlfriend. If your crazy ex girlfriend told me not to let you out of her house, what would you want me to do?”

The guard gave him a look, and opened the gate.

Jaime smiled and nodded. “Thank you for your service.” He walked through the now-empty Lafayette Square, past the guards on the other side, and up a few blocks. When he was fairly sure he was out of earshot, he called Tyrion.

His brother spoke way too fast. “Sorry about the kidnapping. She called you ‘serviceable,’ though. That’s huge. I’m busy now. Here, talk to Bronn.”

Bronn was just as hurried. “Make this quick, fool.”

“Is that Navajo for ‘sorry I punched you in the face’?”

“Shut up, she’s buying it!”

“Alright, Shitting Bull. I’ve officially defected. What now?”

Bronn sighed. “Can you wait a day?”

“No, I can’t wait a day! My sister will lose her shit when she hears!”

“That’s not my problem.”

“It will be, when Daenerys finds out you dropped the ball.”

“Daenerys doesn't give a shit about you, right now.”

 _But I have nice abs, for a man my age._ “What makes you so sure?”

“Well, for one, she’s in the middle of popping a kid out her twat.”


	10. Multiple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two things you should know about this chapter:
> 
> 1\. It’s broken into six mini chapters, from five POVs, with some (but not too much) chronological overlap.
> 
> 2\. There is no smut.
> 
> As was obvious from the end of the last chapter, a lot of shit is about to go down at the same time. If I were to tell it all in my usual format--roughly 10k words per chapter, with about half plot half porn--it would take me months to properly tell a story that takes place over about two days. The first major event also temporarily knocks Dany’s vag out of commission, which limits the smut possibilities, especially over multiple chapters with no time for it to heal.
> 
> So I used this as an opportunity to introduce some new POVs and a bit of comic relief. It also gets through some key plot points concisely but still keeps it interesting, and does justice to the significance of the events. Even if you’re here exclusively for the smut, I think you’ll find it an easy and enjoyable read. And yes, of course the next chapter will be in its regular format with the usual smut quotient.

  **BRONN**

Bronn tossed Tyrion’s phone behind him, onto Dany’s bed. “He just dipped out of the White House. I sent someone to take him to New York.”

Tyrion shrugged. “Sure, fine.”

Her Majesty was spreadeagle between them on the edge of her bed, well into labor, and neither Tyrion nor Bronn, nor the Queen herself, particularly cared about Jaime at the moment.

Another contraction came. For lack of a better idea, Bronn squeezed Dany’s hand as she grunted and screamed. “Um...push?”

Tyrion held her other hand. “Breathe?”

“ _Fuck you,_ I’m doing that!”

Bronn sighed. “Well, if that’s gonna be your attitude…”

“ _FUUUUUCCCCKKKK...YOOOUUUUUU!!_ ”

 _This doctor better get here soon,_ Bronn thought. _If I have to do this myself, I’ll never look at a snatch the same way again._ And he very much enjoyed the way he looked at snatches.

Jon burst into Dany’s bedroom, with his campaign manager in tow, both in bulletproof vests, fresh from a helicopter. “Alright, here’s a doctor.”

Sam Tarly was a dermatologist by trade, but gave it up when Jon got into politics, which Bronn found moronic. _If I were a dermatologist, I’d move to Scottsdale. That, my friend, is a superb racket._

As Jon stepped aside, Sam found himself staring right at the Royal Cooter, huffing and puffing and blowing a kid out. He wasn’t nearly ready for that, but bowed anyway. “It’s an honor to meet, you, Your--Cervix.”

For once, Dany didn’t care about titles. “Pull up a chair, you fat fuck!” Her accent was particularly Ted Kennedy-esque that day.

“Right. Yes.”

Jon stood behind him, suddenly an armchair obstetrician. “Should we give her an epidural?”

Bronn raised an eyebrow at the more-or-less King. “You don’t even know what that is, do you?”

“I know it’ll calm her down.”

 _So, no._ “With all due respect, Your Pending Majesty, nothing calms this woman down but your penis, and someone’s blocking the driveway.”

Sam took a breath. “Well, we’ve got trouble, my friends...”

Jon knelt to inspect, like he’d know what to look for. “What’s wrong?”

Sam ignored him, and tapped his foot. “Right here, I say, [ trouble right here in River City](https://youtu.be/LI_Oe-jtgdI?t=58s)!”

He tapped Sam’s shoulder. “Sam!”

But Sam was in his own world. “Why sure I'm a billiard player, certainly miiiiiiiighty proud, I say, I'm always mighty proud to say it...”

Tyrion looked at Jon. “Does he have Asperger’s or something?” He asked, as Sam babbled on.

“Helps you cultivate _horse sense_ ,” Sam explained, as everyone else looked at each other, wondering what the fuck ‘horse sense’ meant. “And a cool head, and a keen eye…”

Jon shook him. “Sam, what’s the matter?! What do you need?”

He clapped, and pointed to Jon. “Medicinal wine from a teaspoon. Then, beer from a bottle!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Dany shouted.

Sam cleared his throat, and looked up, sheepishly. “Sorry, I sing showtunes when I’m nervous. You’re fine. The baby’s fine. Everything’s fine.” He looked back down, and took a deep breath. “Annnnnnd the next thing ya know, your son is playin’ for money in a pinch-back suit. And list'nin’ to some big out-a-town jasper, hearin' him tell about horse-race gamblin'. Not a wholesome trottin' race, no! But a race where they set down right on the horse!”

It was less than ideal, but the Princess had the gall to show up a week early and mid-coup d’état, and it was the best they could do under the circumstances. But showtunes aside, the birth was, as births go, trouble-free. _Could have done without the pooping, though._

Sam cut the umbilical cord, did the standard inspection, found everything in order, and placed the baby in her mother’s arms. Jon came over, all smiles, and both of them were so serenely happy that Bronn wanted to vomit. Tyrion ran to the bathroom, and actually did vomit. _Never binge drink and watch a live birth._

Dany looked up at him. “What time is it?”

“About eight at night.”

“Arrange for Jon’s sisters to come as soon possible,” she commanded. “Give us an hour alone, then take me down to the bunker. Have Missandei meet me there. And tell Aaron tonight’s the night.”

“You don’t even want to take a nap between the baby and the war?”

Her eyes did that ‘how sure are you that we can’t shoot lasers’ thing. “My daughter didn’t wait to come into this world, why should I wait to conquer it?”

 

* * *

 

**CERSEI**

“She's in _Connecticut?!_ ” Cersei flew out of her chair, slapped the table, and shouted at Varys on the monitor. “At her _fucking_ house?!”

The DNI sighed. “I'm afraid she is.” He didn't seem to appreciate the depth of shit he was in.

But Cersei was snorkeling in it, and keenly aware. She’d snuck out of the White House in Qyburn’s 1998 Saturn station wagon, and as far as the world knew, she was still there. But she’d been gone almost a full day, and with every hour that passed, it became less and less clear that she’d ever leave Camp David alive.

The news was only getting worse. Jaime was AWOL, and the protesters were still in New York, guarded by dozens of the NYPD’s most heavily-armed cops. Qyburn and Varys had begged her not to send in soldiers to clear the streets, as that would guarantee a bloodbath worse than Tienanmen Square, broadcast live from thousands of phones. Cersei had an increasingly hard time seeing the downside to that. _No kids, no Jaime, no mercy._

“Should I even ask how she got there?” _She snuck in through Mexico, obviously._ “Or should I wait until after I level it?” She looked to her Secretary of Defense beside her. “ _Level it!_

Randyll nodded. “Not a problem, ma'am.” He left.

She turned back to Varys. “And her little Ice Pop? Is he there, too?”

“We think so,” said Varys. “According to our sources, she just gave birth a few hours ago.”

 _And what sources would that be?_ But sometimes it was best not to ask, for plausible deniability. “Good. We'll kill all three.”

“Madam President,” Varys warned, like the incompetent shit he was, “I’d strongly recommend you try to capture them alive. We can have the house surrounded in an hour. Wait for an opportunity, then raid it.”

“Fuck raiding.”

“ _Madam President,_ there’s a foreign sovereign and a U.S. citizen on American soil, in a private residence! It’s not clear you have the legal authority to order an airstrike.”

“I'm about to make it abundantly clear.”

Varys made another attempt to reason with her, but she muted him, guzzling her coffee while Qyburn frittered away on his laptop and chewed his lip. _There’s a fucking coup going on, you can groom your twelve-year-olds later._

Thankfully, Randyll Tarly was soon back. A fighter had been scrambled from Massachusetts, and would be over Greenwich in minutes. _Perfect._

Some enlisted idiots from the Air Force followed the Secretary and futzed around with the TV, hooking it up to a laptop.

“I want them to see this on the Jumbotron in Times Square,” Cersei ordered Qyburn. “I’m not fucking around, and those protesters need to see that. Make it happen.”

Qyburn exhaled. “But if something goes wrong, it will only--”

“ _Do it!_

After a few minutes, the main monitor switched to a black-and-white image of a large house, relegating Varys to a tiny square along the side. The pilot introduced himself on speakerphone.

“This is your Commander in Chief,” she answered him. “You fire the second you’re ready.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Still muted, Varys held up a handwritten note on a legal pad. ‘CIVILIANS!! BABY!!’

 _There are no civilians in that house, babies or otherwise._ She gave Varys the finger, and shouted again at the pilot. “Light them up! Kill them all!” _Like that bitch’s father would have done._

Crosshairs centered over the house. Letters and numbers flashed incoherently, all over the screen as the missile readied itself to launch, like the Terminator having an orgasm.

“Ready,” the pilot announced. “Here--”

The feed cut out, to nothing but static and silence.

“We lost the feed, did you hit it?”

Nothing.

She tried again, louder and slower, like she were yelling at the cleaning lady. “We lost...the _feeeeeeed!_

More silence.

Cersei looked at the enlisted idiots, standing around uselessly. “Would anyone in the greatest military in history care to fix the _fucking_ TV?!”

The idiots did their best, but to no avail. For about ten minutes, Cersei did nothing but shake her leg and drum her fingers on the table frantically.

“There’s some problem with Amtrak trains between Boston and Washington,” Qyburn announced, still looking at his computer screen.

 _Who gives a shit?_ Amtrak was for wanna-be Europeans and people who weren’t important enough to fly. “There’s always a problem with Amtrak.”

That shut him up for a minute. Then his face went pale. “Shit.”

_What now? Somebody’s Big Mac is stinking up a Greyhound bus in Idaho?_

He slid her his laptop. “You should see this.”

It was a tweet, from the Connecticut State Police. ‘Officers are responding to an incident in Greenwich, but we have no further information at this time. Residents are advised to stay inside.’

In the replies were dozens pictures, all of the same ‘incident.’ A wall of flashing red and blue lights blocked the Connecticut Turnpike. In front of them, straddling all of the northbound lanes, was the burning tail section of an F-16.

 

* * *

 

**AARON**

“I don’t know how y’all live here,” Aaron told the cop driving the van. It was two in the morning, Manhattan was supposed to be on a strict curfew, and somehow even the SWAT team had to fight through herds of jaywalkers.

The cop smiled. “Spend a saturday night in the West Village. You’ll get it.”

They reached their destination; an all-concrete eyesore, a few blocks from Penn Station. He got out and walked calmly through the front entrance. The single guard at the metal detector pulled one headphone out of his ear, and looked up from the _Law & Order _ rerun on his iPad. “Amtrak personnel only. You got ID?”

“Sure do,” Aaron answered, all Southern and effeminate. He pulled his ID from his jacket, and shot the guard in the face with it.

With that, Her Majesty’s soldiers poured from their borrowed NYPD SWAT vans, and hustled inside.

Queen Daenerys’s command was clear. No one was to enter or leave Manhattan without her permission. The building, which housed the railroad’s dispatch center for the Northeast, could cut off power to every train from Boston to Washington. And his men did precisely that, after showing their own IDs to the employees on the graveyard shift. The official story for the morning rush, still a few hours away, would be that there’d been a ‘switch malfunction,’ which was so common that nobody would suspect otherwise until it was too late. When the power was cut, he had them close the floodgates that sealed the tunnels into and out of the station.

With his men firmly in control of the building, Aaron returned to the lead police van, and sped down to the city’s Office of Emergency Management; another hideous block of concrete about forty blocks south. A second group of soldiers repeated the process with the floodgates for the car and local subway tunnels. Elsewhere, divers in Brooklyn, New Jersey, and Staten Island drilled holes in the fuel tanks of every ferry that crossed the Hudson and East Rivers. Just before sunrise, riot police and Royalist units of the New York National Guard would block the bridges, until the drone strikes, after which there would be no more bridges to block.

To the south, sailing under the doomed Verrazano Bridge, were a flotilla of barges hauling cargo containers filled with tanks and soldiers. Some would make for the three major airports and the seaports in New Jersey, but the main strength was to land at Battery Park on the southern tip of Manhattan, mere blocks from Wall Street.

The last stop, before his surreptitious return by speedboat to Greenwich and Her Majesty's side, was the World Trade Center. There would be no shooting at this one; that was too risky, for many reasons. Instead, the guards normally assigned to the complex were told to expect ‘reinforcements’ in light of the ‘elevated threat level.’

In standard National Guard uniforms, the remaining men under Aaron's command, save for a small handful, strolled casually into the lobby. They were armed with the usual rifles and grenades, supplemented with coffee and doughnuts for their comrades in arms. The poison in the doughnuts would kick in shortly after dawn.

But Aaron didn't stick around to watch dudes eat pastries; instead, he and a few men brought their van around to the service entrance, and commandeered the freight elevator. In the back of his van was a long, heavy cardboard box. “Remember,” he said, “not until we've got the Federal Reserve. I’ll let y’all know.”

Aaron had no idea what the Federal Reserve did, and even Her Majesty's explanation sounded like she was pulling it out of her ass as she spoke. But whatever its purpose, Daenerys had made clear that she really, really wanted it, and the Financial District in which it sat. _‘Take the banks, and by the time Cersei finishes her morning dump, I'll be the most powerful human being to ever exist.’_ It was about damn time.

 

* * *

 

**TYRION**

_I swear, if he raided the liquor cabinet…_ Tyrion got back to his apartment in TriBeCa around midnight, to find Jaime lounging on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, sipping some Johnnie Walker Blue.

 _Asshole._ But given how they’d parted last time, he forgave it.

Jaime raised his glass. “Nice digs.”

It was a new acquisition; the top floor of a [ brand new high-rise ](http://56leonardtribeca.com/home/) in a trendy neighborhood. A bit artsy for his taste, but hookers loved it. He assumed that was why Viserys Targaryen had purchased it in the first place, as a vacation home, thirty miles away from his regular home. Best of all, it was free, so long as he didn't scuff Her Majesty's furniture. _‘But God help you if you scuff my furniture.’_

Tyrion hung his coat, slapped his brother's feet off the table, then licked his thumb and rubbed out a smudge. “How did they get you here?”

“Creepy, unmarked van.”

Tyrion smiled. “Ah, yes, she likes those.”

“She also likes castrating people with cheese graters.”

“Oh, that’s just frat hazing.” Tyrion had to believe that. He just had to. He hopped onto the couch across from Jaime, and stole a sip from his glass.

“Did she haze you, too?”

“No, and frankly, I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” And he was scared to find out.

“She’s an attractive woman, but I could have done without that.”

“Yet you’re here,” Tyrion replied, “and not with You-Know-Who.”

With what appeared to be a brand new hand, Jaime snatched the glass back and gulped down the rest. “Your new boss makes a strong first impression. And your old boss is falling apart at the seams.”

“Welcome to the frat, then.” Tyrion patted his brother on the leg. “Today’s pledge class was two, though the other one hasn't quite mastered the art of the keg stand yet. Or standing in general, for that matter.”

“Can Daenerys really handle a coup and a baby at the same time?”

Tyrion stood, drank straight from the bottle as much as he damn well pleased, and put it back in the cabinet. “I’d warn you against underestimating her, but I think it's impossible not to.” He lumbered toward his bedroom. “Get some rest. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“You'll see.”

Jaime sighed, found the guest room, and slammed the door behind him.

Tyrion wasn’t sure if he’d slept, or simply been too drunk to notice time passing. But soon enough, his alarm was rudely adamant that it was six in the morning. He staggered into the kitchen to find Jaime already sipping coffee, staring out the window at what Tyrion assumed was the first hint of light on the horizon, though he himself couldn't see over the counter.

“I shouldn’t stay with you,” said Jaime. “It’s too obvious. She’ll find me.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

Jaime looked down. “You’ll understand if I don’t trust you on matters of not being kidnapped.”

“Fair, but we’re on the same side, now. If she kidnaps you, she kidnaps me.”

Tyrion slid open the door to his balcony, overlooking the East River. It wrapped around to the southern face of the building, and the Lower Manhattan skyline, with the World Trade Center looming above all else, just a few blocks away.

“Let’s get some air.” He led his brother outside, took a seat at the patio table, and lit a cigarette.

“I thought you were on a health kick.”

“It's leaves! It’s a vegetable!” He blew his vegetables out through his nostrils, and looked up at the sky as it slowly grew lighter.

Jaime pulled his chair upwind, then joined him. “What are we looking at?”

“Planes.” Tyrion ran his finger across the horizon from right to left; south to north, at the line of red-eye flights coming into La Guardia Airport from the west coast.

“What about them?”

A small plume of black smoke was rising along the horizon, right where the airport was. One by one, the planes stopped their descents, and scattered.

Jaime cleared his throat, nervously. “So, it’s on, then.”

Tyrion nodded. “Like Pycelle’s blinker, all the way to Golden Corral.”

Almost directly in front of them, the rising sun began to glimmer against the three bridges over the East River, between Brooklyn and downtown Manhattan. In almost perfect unison, three white flashes of light hurled themselves from the sky, right into the center of each bridge, cutting the city off from its outer boroughs. A fourth explosion bounced hard off the wall, from further uptown. _59th Street._ And a few more, in the distance. _Whatever those shitty bridges in the Bronx are called._

“People aren't going to like that she blew up the Brooklyn Bridge,” Jaime noted.

“They'll forgive her when they see what she’ll pay the workers to rebuild it.” Tyrion had helped Daenerys craft her governing agenda, on her orders that the economic component be ‘Keynesian as fuck.’

Seemingly from nowhere, a helicopter fell into position between their building and the World Trade Center.

“Is that one of ours?” Jaime asked.

“Nope.” Tyrion flicked his cigarette off the balcony, and immediately lit another.

Jaime spotted the missiles hanging off the sides. “He’s armed.”

“And you, Top Gun, know exactly what he's doing right now.”

Jaime looked like he was about to vomit. “He’s on the radio with Washington.”

“And our beloved sister, waiting for her order to kill us.” Tyrion waved at them. “Come on, do it!”

“Are you nuts?!” Not waiting for an answer, Jaime tried and failed to break through the patio door with his shoulder.

“You’re nuts, if you think a broken glass door will save you.”

A second later came a deafening explosion, and a shockwave that knocked Tyrion onto his ass, and sent a hunk of metal through the patio door over a ducking Jaime. _Oh, fuck, the furniture._

When the metal stopped flying, the brothers picked their heads up. Where the helicopter had been, just a moment before, was nothing but a cloud of black smoke.

“How did you know we'd shoot it down?!” Jaime finally asked, shouting into Tyrion’s ringing ear.

“We didn't shoot shit!”

Having lived in New York on and off for years, Tyrion reflexively assumed that the World Trade Center would be burning, because that was bound to happen again, sooner or later. But when the smoke cleared, there it stood, perfectly intact and looking exactly like it always did, save for Her Majesty's banner, fluttering from the top.

 

* * *

 

**SANSA**

_We’re gonna hit these trees, we’re gonna hit these trees, oh my God, we’re gonna hit these trees._ Across the aisle, Arya looked out her own window, smiling giddily at the prospect of learning what happens when a helicopter hits a tree. Sansa shrieked and gripped the arm rests, as the pilot suddenly pitched the nose way up, and slowed rapidly into a hover. _Big tree! Big tree!_

But just before she could close her eyes, the trees below gave way to a clearing, and the helicopter plopped itself hard onto the grass.

Arya was beaming. “That was awesome.”

With the engines still running, two men in black uniforms opened the door and jumped onboard, waving her and her sister forward. “C’mon! C’mon! Let’s go!”

Sansa forgave the rude greeting, and followed her sister toward the door, descending the steps and sprinting toward the back entrance to Daenerys Targaryen’s sprawling estate.

In jeans and a black t-shirt, Jon greeted them with a tight hug as soon as they got inside. “Sorry about that. He had to outrun the RPGs.”

 _Oh, well, then…_ “It’s fine.” She smiled, and breathed, for once. “I’m just glad to be here.” They’d been smuggled from Minnesota into Canada in the back of a van, flown by private jet from Canada to Cuba, then to Dominica, then Bermuda, then by helicopter to Greenwich after a refueling stop on a fucking aircraft carrier. _I will never complain about the Atlanta airport again._

“I have a present for you.” Arya pulled a lint roller from her backpack, and deposited a healthy quantity of white hairs all over Jon’s shirt. “Can you please pick up your damn dog?”

Sansa tuned her out. “So,” she asked Jon, “when’s the baby due?”

He smiled, wider than she’d ever seen. “She’s already done.”

“So you’re a dad?!”

He blushed, and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, it’s...weird.” _That might be the most emotionally self-aware thing he's ever said._ “Want to meet her?”

“The baby?” Sansa asked. “Or--”

“Both, I guess. They’re sort of inseparable.”

 _Right. I suppose that’s normal._ Sansa had mentally prepared herself for a niece, but still hadn’t a clue how to handle the mother. All she knew of the woman was what she’d heard on the news, which was disturbing to say the least, and Jon’s creepily glowing testimony to her all-around greatness. _Well, you’re in her house, about to watch her elope..._ “Let’s go, then.”

Jon must have sensed her apprehension. “She’s in a good mood,” he assured her. “We got Manhattan this morning.” He said it so casually, like he’d brag about his fantasy football team.

 _Maybe he’s changed. Maybe I don’t know him, anymore_. He wasn’t just sharing a bed with Daenerys, or a child, or a life. He was sharing a destiny. One that would either make him one of two people in charge of the wealthiest and most powerful nation on Earth for the rest of his life, or kill him and seal his legacy as the chief accomplice to one history’s most daring crimes. But he seemed not the least bit different. _Maybe I never knew him._

She grabbed his arm and stared into his eyes, while she still had the chance. “Do you really want all this? Or is it all her?”

He flashed that trademark petulance of his, like a teenager refusing to turn that racket down. “I want it, because it’s _right._ And I’m a grown man, I make my own choices.”

Sansa couldn’t prove otherwise. “If you say so.” Though she purposely withheld her support, for now. _Not until we meet the brains of the operation._

He threw on a windbreaker, and led them to the entrance to what looked like a fallout shelter. Downstairs was a large circular room with a bunch of identical unmarked doors. He opened one, which led to what looked like a prison cell with nothing but a cot in the middle of the floor and some strange nozzles in the wall. In the corner was a hatch, which led to a much longer staircase, which led to exactly the sort of bunker Sansa imagined a woman like Daenerys would own.

It was austere, but clearly designed for prolonged use, with a kitchen, a small dining area, and sleeping rooms, with cots and some basic bedroom furniture. At the end of a long hallway was a conference room, with two armed guards outside. They saluted Jon, and opened the door.

“You should kneel when you see her,” he whispered.

Sansa looked at Arya. _Seriously?_ Arya looked like she had some additional comments, but they were inside before she could make them. _And there she is._ The brains of the operation sat at the head of the table, in loose-fitting sweatpants and a fleece jacket, holding her bundled-up newborn like it was Take Your Daughter to Work Day. A woman roughly the same age sat next to her, typing away furiously on her phone. Next to her was a man dressed for combat, and behind the Queen stood a vaguely familiar bodyguard. On a monitor across the room was a man in his fifties in a military uniform, surrounded by smaller black and white videos of stuff blowing up.

Daenerys raised her hand to cut off the man on the monitor. “Hold on a minute.” She turned her chair and smiled warmly.

Remembering Jon's warning, the Stark sisters began to take a knee, but Daenerys waved them off.

“Stop. Don't be silly.”

They both stopped, and stood there silently, feeling even sillier. _Charm. Grace. Pleasantries. Don't let Arya talk._

Daenerys looked at Jon, and motioned for him to take the baby, which he did. _He does look adorable,_ Sansa had to admit. _And happy._ She rrose carefully, still clearly in a bit of pain, and invited Sansa in for a gentle hug.

“You're Sansa,” she informed Sansa.

“I am,” Sansa smiled back graciously. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Your--”

“Dany. We're about to be family, there's no need for formalities.” She repeated the greeting with Arya, sat back down, and gestured for them to follow suit. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, I can imagine what an imposition it must be. I'm sorry we couldn't meet under more normal circumstances.”

“Under more _nawmal cihcumstahnces,_ ” Arya mocked the Queen's accent, because maybe she had a death wish, “this one would have brought a casserole. This is way cooler.”

‘Dany’ smiled at Sansa. “I'm sure it's excellent.”

“Nope,” Arya corrected her.

Dany laughed and smiled again; obnoxiously perfect, even by Sansa's standards. “And this is Missandei, my Chief of Staff; Aaron, the commander of my forces on the ground; and Bronn, an idiot.”

“A rich idiot.”

Missandei looked up briefly, and smiled.

“I like your hair,” said Sansa.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Thanks.”

_What! It’s unique!_

Aaron snickered to himself, then gave them a “hey, y’all.” He sounded more like the commander of a salon than an army.

She took the baby from Jon. “I believe you've met my fiancé, already. And this little sack of preciousness is Her Royal Highness, Princess Alysanne the First.” She said it without a hint of irony. _She's really not messing around._

Sansa leaned in, and smiled at the sleeping Princess. “She's beautiful.”

Dany sighed. “She gets it from her father.”

 _Oh, like you don't know you're hot._ The woman had given birth not even a day earlier, and looked like she had about five pounds to lose, at most. _And she'll lose it by dinner, probably._ Still, the modesty was unexpected, and disarming, at least for the moment. Sansa smiled and looked at Jon.

Dany followed suit, and jerked her head toward the table. “Sit, darling.”

Jon practically dove into his chair. Sansa flashed him a look. _Do you get a biscuit for that?_

Dany turned back to the women. “I can't wait to get better acquainted, but I'm afraid I have some business to attend to.” _‘Business,’ she calls it._ She turned to Missandei. “How are we doing?”

“The head of Deutsche Bank says ‘it's time to acknowledge the new reality,’ and called on his government to recognize your sovereignty.”

A crooked smile crept onto her face. “Excellent.”

Arya turned to her sister, smirked, and tapped her fingertips together like Mr. Burns from _The Simpsons._ Sansa glared.

Thankfully, Dany had already turned back to the man on the monitor. “What about you?”

“Most of the National Guard units on the east coast have given up, and are starting to come over. The regular Army is still backing her, but they’re slowly realizing it’s futile.”

Dany golf-clapped, and turned again to Sansa. “I’m afraid there’s a glitch in the software my company developed for the regime’s weapons systems,” she explained. Apparently, the world's greatest democracy was a ‘regime.’ “Whenever they try to launch a missile, it detonates prematurely. They're literally blowing themselves up. There’s a patch, of course, but if you want that...” She pointed to the floor in front of her feet, made a clicking noise, and winked.

Arya seemed mildly impressed. “Nobody's thought of hacking their shit before?”

“Oh, everyone's thought of it.” Dany wiggled her daughter's toe and grinned, rattling off America’s rivals with a cutesy voice on each little piggy. “The Russians, the Chinese, the Iranians, the North Koreans…”

“Jeff Goldblum in _Independence Day,_ ” Bronn added.

“Jeff Goldblum in _Independence Day…_ ” Dany finished her game, and spoke in her normal voice. “But our soon-to-be former government was too dysfunctional to do anything about it. And that’s why its time has passed.”

For the first time, Sansa saw some validity to this woman's beliefs. Like most Americans, she'd always assumed that for everything it sucked at, the federal government was the best in the world at defense. And that was good, as its fuckups gave it plenty to defend against. _But if they can't even do that right…_

Dany turned to Missandei again. “How are the markets?”

“Terrible,” she replied, smiling. “Futures are down twenty percent, the Asian markets have all suspended trading, and bond yields are through the roof.”

Dany rocked the Princess gently in her arms. “Tweet that I’ll honor the previous regime's debts and trade agreements, but to protect themselves from the scare tactics of a dying government, the American markets should remain closed until I take my throne.” She paused. “You know, make it authoritative. I say who trades what, when. No one else. That’s how it works, now. Period.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

After another hour or so tweeting threats, edicts, and baby pictures, Dany yawned, and stood. “I'm sorry, I'm rather exhausted, and it will be dark soon. Would you mind if we start the ceremony?”

“Of course.” The coup was fascinating, as was Dany’s serene, carefree megalomania, but the wedding was the point of the trip. Sansa fished through her purse, and pulled out a small box. “But I’d like to ask one thing of you.”

“And what's that?” Dany's eyes narrowed. _Jesus, that's terrifying._ Her Majesty was clearly not a fan of people asking one thing of her.

 _Hold it together._ Sansa opened the box. “This is my father's wedding band. It's one of the few things we have left of him. We’d like you to wear it.” It didn't match the engagement ring at all. It was the sort of ugly, tarnished yellow gold that a woman like Dany probably wouldn't use to fill a molar, and it was obviously way too big for her finger. “We’ll resize it, of course. But Jon is marrying into quite a family. And that's wonderful, but he had a family of his own before he met you, and that family's not going away. We'd like you to remember where he came from, and the man who made him who he is.”

Dany took the ring and inspected it. _I don’t care who you are, I will make a stink about this._ If this lady was too good for a bulky old ring, then Jon was too good for her. She looked at him. “What would your father think of me?”

Jon let out a nervous chuckle. “He'd wonder if I met you on ‘the Tinder.’” _He’d wonder more than that._

“He wouldn't know what the hell to think of you,” said Arya. “Unless you think you're too good for that ring. Then I know exactly what he'd think.” _Couldn't have said it better myself._

“I only ask because I'm in no position to judge if I'm worthy of it.” _At least you know that._ Sansa couldn't tell if Dany was being genuine, but really hoped she was. “I mean it. I'm well aware of my reputation. But politics is one thing. This is a man's legacy, and I know how highly Jon thinks of him.” She turned to Jon. “If I wore this every day for the rest of my life, would it feel right to you?”

“You're holding his granddaughter,” Jon reminded her. “If I didn't think you could handle his jewelry, I wouldn't have trusted you with his blood.”

Dany turned back to his sisters, tears welling in those deadly eyes of hers. _If this is all for show, it's a very good show._ She fished the original wedding band out of her pocket; white gold and rubies to match her engagement ring, and tossed it blindly over her shoulder toward Missandei. “Then I'd be honored.”

Once her men were confident Cersei Lannister wouldn’t smite her with a missile if she went outside, Dany passed Alysanne to Sansa, then led them up a long staircase that bypassed the creepy rooms they’d gone through on the way down. It let them out in the middle of the woods, where a small pavilion had been set up.

Missandei and Aaron led Dany aside, to fix her makeup. Sansa stood closer to Jon, but Arya was chatting him up, and Sansa was in the mood for some eavesdropping.

“Can I be a groomsman?” Aaron asked the Queen.

“Why?”

“Because if he’s gonna wear those jeans, I want to stand behind him. That ass is just...rude.”

Dany laughed. “I'll have to teach it some manners, then.” _That’s what you get for eavesdropping._

Makeup finished, the bride snapped her fingers to get everyone’s attention. “Shall we begin?”

Sansa stood next to Jon, but left room for Aaron to ogle his ass, because she was nice. Missandei took her spot on Dany’s side.

Internet Reverend Arya stood between the bride and groom, holding the rings. “I’ve never done this without someone dressed as a Stormtrooper, so why don't you just go ahead…”

Dany started. “It's occurred to me that I wasted many hours of my childhood dreaming up countless wedding fantasies, none of which involved sweatpants. But they did involve a thousand people I barely knew, a select few I despised, and a man in a very nice suit with no name and a blurry face, chosen by my father from a pool of mediocrities. I'm so glad those fantasies never came true. All I can see is you, right now, and that's all I want. We’ll have plenty of chances to put on a spectacle for others, but this isn’t one of them. This is more important. Before everything else, I will always be your wife. I will love you until the end of time, and I will burn the world down for you if I have to. I will make you a King, and treat you like one. I will protect our family with all the ferocity that makes me who I am.”

She paused. “There will be much talk about how I’ve changed you. But no one has any idea how much you’ve changed me, too. So let's keep it our little secret, let them think what they will, and love each other in our own way, just you and me. If I wasted time as a child, then I should waste no more. I'm yours, now and always.”

Jon laughed nervously, through misty eyes. “Speaking of not wasting time, mine's shorter. I love you. I don't know how I could be anything else but yours, so that's an easy promise. You showed me things I didn't know were possible. You gave me a daughter. You gave me a purpose. You gave me a new life, in so many ways.”

He looked up at the sky. "For all we know, there’s a bomb ready to fall on our heads any second. So let's get these damn rings on, because if I'm going to die right now, I want the world to know this happened when they find my body.”

With a half-joking haste, Dany took Jon’s wedding band from Arya, and slid it onto her husband's finger. Jon reciprocated, sliding Ned Stark’s ring onto hers. He was far more deliberate than she expected, for a man worried about dying in an instant. He stared at her with an intensity she'd never seen in him before.

 _Jon the war hero,_ she thought. _Not the goofy brother._ She knew the stories, obviously, but they'd never really clicked. Jon had gone away and come back, more ripped but otherwise the same. Only then did it hit her how much he’d really changed. _The man made laws for a living. He led. He ran for president, because he was actually qualified._ Jon would have made a damn good president. _So why wouldn’t he make a damn good King?_ And if he wanted it… And if he wanted her…

Arya looked around for a second before realizing it was her turn to speak. “Nice. By the power vested in me by--”

“Me,” Dany interrupted.

“Sure. I now pronounce you man and wife.”

They kissed, tastefully. Aaron and Missandei immediately took a knee. Weirded out, Sansa lifted her hands to clap, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. _That was more than a hasty wedding. That was history._ She looked at her sister. Arya surveyed the scene, nodded, and they knelt together.

“Rise,” Dany finally said, as Jon stood there, not at all sure what to do. “That's very sweet of you, but we should get back downstairs for the reception. _Quickly._ ”

The ‘reception’ was an evening of breastfeeding, diaper changing, red velvet cupcakes, and airstrikes. Dany apologized for the accommodations, and put her sisters-in-law in a small bedroom with two cots for the night. The whole thing was too surreal for them to care.

They woke the next morning to all sorts of commotion down the hall.

“ _What?!_ ” Dany shouted. “When?!”

Sansa heard someone respond, but couldn’t make out the words.

“Well, scramble them! _Scramble them! Now! Go!_ ”

Arya rolled over. “Chill the fuck out, bitch, it's _eggs!_ ” She groaned, then threw a pillow over her head.

 _She's not talking about eggs._ Sansa poked her head out, to find Jon and his wife in a tight embrace. Beneath a Kevlar vest, Dany wore a white collared shirt and a thick, black crew neck sweater, with black cargo pants tucked into what appeared to be genuine combat boots. A Middle Eastern girl in a robe and an oddly tight silver necklace was helping her fix a pistol to her belt. Clenched in one fist was her crown; white gold, diamonds, and rubies glistening in the fluorescent lights.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she promised Jon. “At _home_.” She kissed Alysanne on the forehead as Bronn held her, and whispered something Sansa couldn’t hear. “You, guard the family,” She ordered Bronn, then turned to Aaron and Missandei. “You two, with me.”

Bronn handed the baby to Jon. “Here, I’m so dead if I drop this thing.”

 _This is definitely not about eggs._ Dany stopped at Sansa’s door. “I’ve been a terrible hostess, I know, but something’s come up. Of course, you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like. Though I recommend you stay down here until it’s safe.”

“How will we know when it’s safe?”

“Oh, you’ll know.”

 

* * *

 

**AARON**

The smoke trail from a rocket-propelled grenade whizzed beneath them as they crossed inside the Beltway. _It’s all they’ve got left._ But it was still enough to take out a Blackhawk. _So give the speech._

He turned to the ten other men in the helicopter with him, in full combat gear. “Y’all ready to fuck some shit up?!” It wasn’t the Gettysburg Address, but it was what they needed.

The soldiers could barely hear him, and he knew it, but they all nonetheless roared in the affirmative.

“What?!”

More shouts. Aaron was more interested in their eyes than their words. He scanned each set, watching the sparks grow into flames, like a campfire lit by hand.

“ _What?!_ ”

Still more shouts. The kindling had begun to smolder.

“ _WHAT??!!_ ”

The shouts devolved into sustained throat-scraping madness. _Fire. Now blow on it, so it catches._

“Long live the Queen!”

He could read the answer on their lips. “Long live the Queen!”

“ _Long live the Queen!_ ”

“LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!”

He banged the door. “Bitch, I said _long live the FUCKING QUEEN!!_ ”

The blaze caught just as the doors opened, and the men flew down the ropes onto the street below. A dozen other Blackhawks were unloading their men as well; some on highway choke points; others on the National Mall. And unbeknownst to everyone but Aaron the men carrying her, The Fucking Queen herself was circling somewhere nearby, careful not to draw attention, but ready to move back into her home the second it was ready.

Washington was not supposed to be on the itinerary this soon. They’d all expected Cersei Lannister to hunker down in the White House and flood the city with defenders, to force Daenerys into massacring thousands to get what she came for. New York and its banks were to be Her Majesty’s hostage; her gamble that America’s real center of power was with the money, not the monuments. _Because blah, blah, blah, Alexander Hamilton, blah, blah, blah, not throwing away her shot._ Aaron was ready to die for that woman, but someone had to break it to her that she couldn't rap and should stop trying.

But Jaime Lannister’s offhand comment to his brother, that Cersei had left for Camp David as soon as Jon Snow bent the knee, had changed things. _‘_ _T_ _ake Manhattan, and you’re some bitch in a bunker, running a terrorist attack,’_ Missandei had told her. _‘Take the White House, and she’s the bitch in the bunker, running nothing.’_

He'd landed on the corner of 17th Street and Constitution Avenue Northwest; right where he'd planned, though in retrospect it was a stupid decision. South of Constitution, by the National Mall, were two pointless cement walls which served no purpose except as a great hiding place for snipers. And given the bullets flying past the back of his head, and the guy next to him dropping dead, they were serving their purpose quite well. He took cover between not one but two Korean taco trucks parked on 17th Street, thanked God for white people and their obsession with twenty dollar tacos filled with nasty cabbage, and contemplated his next move.

By a straight line, the White House was about a half mile away, across a mostly wide-open field with a street running through it. There was a fence, of course, but the bigger problem was the line of tanks, packed tightly along the street, all of which would make short work of anyone stupid enough to go charging into the field. _Like that fool,_ he thought, as he watched a man get shredded alive by a hundred bullets from the machine guns of five different tanks.

The software thing was useless against a tank, as lobbing a shell in a straight line required only gunpowder and a spark. He did his best to creep between the thin patch of trees on the periphery of the field, hoping the men in the tanks were tired, or blind, or demoralized.

They weren't. One fired its canon through the trees, aiming for something in the distance behind him. The shell broke a dozen branches off the trees above, pinning him down temporarily, but miraculously not snapping his spine.

He freed himself, thought about making another run for it, then realized he had nowhere left to run. He got on his stomach behind the thickest tree trunk he could find, which wasn't very thick, and collected his thoughts again.

 _Make them waste a few more bullets on you._ It was the only way he could be of service to Her Majesty. He scanned the tanks, puzzling at how he could make them waste as many bullets as possible. It was a hard puzzle. _There's too many._

Then there was one less. Then two, then three.

Columns of flames sprung up from each tank in rapid succession, like Hell’s answer to the fountain at the Bellagio. Aaron ducked and put his arms over his head to shield himself from the debris, and watched as a plane banked low and fast above him, like the Angel of Death. It straightened itself after a second, kicked on its afterburners, and roared into a steep climb to the south, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Daenerys was quite pleased when she learned which aircraft carrier Yara Greyjoy had procured for her. _‘I like Harry Truman. He brought down an empire with a few well-placed infernos,’_ she’d said. _And maybe he just did it again._

Aaron put his head down and booked it between the burning tanks, dodging the men who had manned them as they ran around, helplessly waiting for the flames on their uniforms to consume them. When he reached the fence around the White House proper, he found some of the Queen's men had already breached the gates from the north. He was mildly disappointed, as he’d hoped he could be the first. But then again, he'd also hoped Mahershala Ali would pop out of the cake at his birthday party. _There's still time._ But not if he kept standing there like a damn fool.

“Hey, yo!” He tried to get someone's attention on the South Lawn, but they were all preoccupied with making sure nobody was hiding in the bushes. So he climbed up the fence, and tumbled down onto the lawn.

One of the soldiers recognized him, and ran over to help him up.

“Where's the storage room?!”

The soldier looked at him, confused. “I don't know, sir!”

 _Basement._ He dusted himself off and ran inside, then found a staircase, flew downstairs, and checked every room frantically. _Kitchen, laundry room, furnaces…_ Finally, he found a red carpet rolled up in a corner. He threw it over his shoulder and ran back upstairs to the Diplomatic Reception Room on the ground floor, which opened onto the South Lawn. _She's gonna hate this_ [ _wallpaper_](https://imgur.com/a/rgtGO) _,_ which was a bunch of tacky 19th Century landscapes of white people and Indians getting along great. _And the low ceiling, and the cheap chandelier._ But there were more pressing matters, so he tossed the carpet by the door and ran up to the main floor.

An officer stood at the top of the stairs, supervising his men as they lined up janitors, cooks, and uniformed Secret Service agents against the wall and frisked them. _So it's too dangerous for Cersei, but these guys can die, because fuck ‘em._ From what he'd heard about Cersei Lannister, that sounded about right.

“Did we sweep the whole thing?”

“Yes, sir, this is the last of ‘em.”

 _And your country ass ran the whole thing._ But there was no time for self-congratulation. “Where's the roof?”

The officer pointed to another set of stairs. Aaron bounded up, two at a time, only realizing how winded he was when he stepped outside onto the roof. A soldier stood looking over the South Lawn, still holding his rifle, smoking a cigar. Aaron came up from behind and knocked it out of his hand.

“You ain't done yet, fool!”

The soldier was not expecting his boss’s boss’s boss’s boss's boss. “Sorry, sir!”

Aaron pointed at the speck in the sky, as it grew into a helicopter. The soldier put his rifle to his shoulder like he was about to shoot a damn duck.

“Wait.” The helicopter launched a series of red flares from its belly. Aaron pushed the barrel of the soldier's rifle toward the ground, and spoke into the mic clipped to his uniform. “Y’all hold your fire!” He turned back on the soldier. “Cover her.”

“Cover who?”

Ignoring the question, Aaron hurried back downstairs to the Diplomatic Reception Room and burst in, finding two soldiers crouched in the middle of the room, rifles pointed at the door that led to the South Lawn. He put down his rifle and picked up the roll of red carpet, dropping it in front of them and pointing to the door.

“Roll that out!”

One of them hesitated. “But there's a helicopter--”

“Bitch, I know that!” He picked them up by their collars and waved them out. “ _Shoo!_ ”

The men followed their orders, and rolled out the carpet. Aaron watched as the helicopter landed and the men realized who was aboard. He smiled at her as she donned her crown and descended the steps between the kneeling soldiers, then stepped aside and took a knee himself as she made her way up the red carpet.

After far too long in exile, Her Majesty strolled in and surveyed her rightful home, then sighed and looked down at Aaron. “Who picked this awful wallpaper?”


	11. Daenerys V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Bronn wasn't fit to be Secretary of his own dickhole."

Looking back, it was obvious. In the end, the clincher was neither the banks, nor the capital, but the nukes. As the world watched Dany stroll from her helicopter back into her home, Cersei had ordered strikes on New York and Washington, but no one with the power to actually press the button could bring themselves to kill millions of their own countrymen for a crumbling government. Dany tweeted the fuck out of that, promised to never give the same command under any circumstances, and it was over.

In that instant, Daenerys Targaryen transformed from a B-list dictator and second-generation crazy person into the most powerful human being in history. And after one quip about tacky wallpaper, she began what she’d been planning since she was thirteen. _‘Genesis, Take Two,’_ she called it; six days in which she’d remake America into something she could work with. The first step was to promptly shut down the internet, airports, financial markets, public schools, and all television news except PBS. She announced that morning she’d married Jon and would rule jointly, sucked his cock that night like it was going out of style, then locked him in a cage in the Capitol Building’s crypt, where he fucking belonged.

Cersei Lannister was caught hours later, though Dany kept that private. Rather than a hero in captivity--or worse, a martyr--Dany preferred to make her the subject of conspiracy theories and wild speculation; of ‘sightings’ and imposters, until the public decided her true fate didn’t matter, and simply moved on. Cersei awaited that fate in a bunker in Greenwich, also where she fucking belonged.

The next day, Varys presented her with a list of potential agitators, based on an algorithm that analyzed their social media posts, bank records, travel records, voting records, phone records, academic records, and Google search and location history. She commanded him to round them up, and either give them a stern warning or burn them at the stake, whichever he saw fit. “But nothing in between,” she’d cautioned. “When people like that go to prison, they write _Mein Kampf._ ”

That night, she addressed her new subjects from the Oval Office to confirm this wasn’t some bizarre nightmare, and promised not to hurt anyone so long as they remained loyal and obedient. She finished the speech by summoning Cersei Lannister’s cabinet to Washington, as well as the Congress, the governors of all states and territories, and the CEOs of the companies that made up the Dow 30, where she would accept their fealty five days hence.

On Day Three, she found that redneck with the bumper sticker that mocked her husband and watched her men switch his Truck Nuts with his real nuts, per the to-do list in her phone. After lunch, she appointed Missandei her Hand of the Queen over Tyrion’s grumbling, then spent rest of the day napping and playing with her daughter. The airports reopened on Day Four as did schools and the internet reopen, provided no one use either to question her right to supreme sovereignty over her country, or other “seditious or uncivilized discourse, which any adult can recognize. And for once, your leader shall treat you like adults.”

Day Five started bright and early, with her non-negotiable policy changes. First was automatic citizenship for anyone physically present in the country, so long as they pledged their loyalty. She canceled all student loan and credit card debt, and made it a felony to lend to any individual at more than seven percent interest. The banks got all butt-hurt about that, so she promised they’d recoup their losses through massive infrastructure spending and an end to certain “antiquated” regulations.

Single-payer healthcare came next, and a national insurance system for personal injury, medical malpractice, and property damage to get that crap out of the court system. The three cable news networks were abolished, replaced with one channel governed by a panel of experts to decide what merited discussion and who should discuss them; subject, of course, to Her Majesty’s veto.

Last, because she wasn’t an idiot, was gun control. She allowed one handgun per household, “to defend the household, and to _stay_ in the household,” and one rifle, provided the owner had a hunting license and could prove he’d used it in the past year. Assault weapons were banned entirely. Those owned by private citizens would be confiscated, “and if you think I’m not prepared for an insurrection, google me.” She reopened the financial markets an hour later, and let them twist themselves into knots digesting it all.

Then it was off with Alysanne to Baghdad, where on Day Six she promised she hadn’t forgotten her Iraqi subjects, spit-roasted some pedophiles to prove it, and appointed Tyrion her Governor-General, again over his grumbling.

_And on the seventh day, She tortured._

Dany marched toward her husband’s cage, at the center of the Capitol’s dimly-lit crypt, the clicking of her heels and rumbling of the wheels of her suitcase waking him up. The spot, surrounded by forty stone columns, was intended to be George Washington’s tomb, but he’d insisted in his will on being buried at home in Virginia. She rested her suitcase against the cage, and her large duffel bag on top of it, then slid a water bottle between the bars and squeezed some into his mouth. Jon’s cock had a cage of its own, to which she’d purposely left the key at home. Other than that, and a metal dog collar, he wore nothing.

“Did you miss me, dear?” Jon certainly missed water; that was obvious from the way he sucked it down. _And don’t you forget who brought it._ She chose not to press him for an answer, preferring to savor his desperation. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

It was true, but their time apart was necessary. It had been barely a week since she’d given birth, and the doctors said she’d have to wait another month for him to even go down on her. She knew herself, and she knew that having the boy and that cock of his in her bed would make her do something stupid. _I’ve also been far too nice to him recently._ That was equally true, and equally important. Pregnancy, work stress, fear, and the wedding all precluded a proper beating, and His Majesty needed a reminder of the pecking order.

Daenerys herself wore her ‘meeting and beating’ outfit, because after the beating there was, in fact, a meeting, and she could wear it to both: black leather boots she couldn’t resist because she was a [ narcissist](https://imgur.com/a/m5S4KHl), [ leather pants](https://imgur.com/a/hk8pSip), and a [ black lambskin top](https://imgur.com/a/Kynjo8s). And her crown, of course, and her wedding rings, which still felt strange on her fingers, though she’d managed to get Ned Stark’s clunky gold monstrosity resized.

Jon nodded, which Dany took as a response to her question. _The poor boy’s forgotten his manners. The poor, poor boy._ She snatched the bottle behind her back.

“More...please…” His eyes were so sad and helpless, she was already stirring.

 _Mmmm._ “Do I look like a waitress to you?”

“No.” He paused. “No, Daddy, I’m sorry. Please--”

 _Better, but too late._ She held the bottle in front of her, and squeezed the rest onto the floor, grinning as he watched. “Shall I let you out so you can suck that up off the floor? Or would that make you a presumptuous little cunt?”

“Please, Daddy, I’ll be good, please, I need it.”

 _God, I’ve missed that._ He looked pathetic, frankly. Like a sniveling little pussy. It would have been a turn-off, but she’d been craving a good snivel, and Jon would prove himself anything but a pussy at the meeting later that morning.

“Very well.” Dany unlocked his cage but stopped sort of undoing the latch, to test if he was stupid enough to try to do it himself. He clearly thought about it for a split second, but stopped himself, and waited patiently on his knees, begging once more with his eyes. _I could look at those all day._ “Good boy. I’ll even give you a treat.” She spat into the puddle, then opened the cage. “Drink.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Jon sprung forward, and lapped up the mess in front of her feet, slurping like an ill-mannered child.

“That’s it.” She pressed his head to the floor with her boot heel. “Get some strength back, darling. You’ll need it.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy,” Jon muttered, ignoring the leash as she retrieved it from her bag and clipped it to his collar.

“ _Enough!_ ” She tugged hard, sending him flat onto his face. “Ass in the air.”

Jon presented himself. For no particular reason other than to make him feel like the piece of livestock he was, Dany squatted over his back, spread his ass cheeks, teased him with a bit with her finger, then released them and gave him a firm slap.

Jon sucked his breath through his teeth and whimpered. Dany enjoyed that for a moment, then stood, turned, and dragged him by his leash toward a [ statue of John Stark](https://imgur.com/a/yuS7J1u), the Revolutionary War general who coined the phrase ‘live free or die.’ It was the perfect mindfuck statue; that would have been Jon’s name had his dad not put his peen in the wrong lady, which gave him a lovely chip to spice up his shoulder, and it reminded him that he would never again live free.

“Hug his leg,” she ordered.

“What…?” Jon was still lost in agony, from crawling on the hard limestone floor.

 _Bitch has gone soft._ Dany pulled him up by the hair, plopped him down so his elbows rested on the pedestal by the statue’s feet, and shouted into his ear. “I said _HUG THIS TRAITOR’S LEG_ like your life depends on it, and don’t let go until I tell you!” _Because it might. And if you think I wouldn’t do it, you’ve misjudged my mood severely._

“Yes, Daddy,” Jon groaned and fidgeted to get comfortable, but dared not resist.

“It all seems like a dream, doesn’t it?”

It certainly did to her. Two weeks ago, she couldn’t even stand near a window in her own house, lest some asshole with a zoom lens write her death warrant. She was a nut, with a dream reserved for cartoon supervillains, that for two hundred years the world had assumed impossible.

Now, she could snuff humanity with a phone call; turn three hundred million lives upside down with a proclamation, and send the ripple of her whims across the world. She’d risen to supreme sovereignty over nearly twice as much land in a few days than Alexander the Great had in his entire life, and popped a kid out in the middle of it. Plenty of people still hated her, and many were surely conspiring against her, but now they were the ones with the far-fetched dreams and plans that were doomed from the start. _You also wifed up the finest piece of ass in your empire._

She went back to her duffel bag and took out a tube of lidocaine cream. The prescription shit, that actually worked. “Remember the night I first raped you?” She asked, rubbing a thick layer onto that fine piece of ass. “I made fun of you. I said if you got me pregnant, you’d have to take a poll to decide what to do.”

Jon nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

She squeezed some more cream onto her hands and coated his back. “Aren’t you glad you did exactly what I said? Aren’t you glad you’ll never have to listen to another poll in your life? Aren’t you glad you can literally give our daughter the world? Aren’t you glad I’m a power-crazed cunt, and completely out of my _fucking_ mind?!”

He closed his eyes, losing himself in the feeling of her soft little fingertips on his skin, and the numbness they left in their wake. “Mmm.” _Answer the question, bitch._ She didn’t say it, but he heard it in his mind anyway and caught himself. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Of course you are. Things go much smoother when you give in.” _As the world is slowly learning._

“Yeah…”

 _Aww, he misses his little backrubs._ She forgave the ‘yeah,’ and softly kissed his neck, nibbling and breathing on it, nipping at his earlobe as she finished rubbing a nice, thick layer of the numbing cream on his shoulders. “Does that feel good?”

“Mhm…” _Two rude answers in a row? Fuck forgiveness._

“Good.” She slapped his ass, grabbed a clump of hair and pressed her mouth close to his ear. “But is that an excuse to forget your manners?”

He grunted and seethed. “No, Daddy, I’m sorry. Yes, Daddy, it feels good. Please punish me, Daddy.”

Dany felt the warmth and wetness in her panties. _You almost made up for it._ She gave his earlobe one last tug with her teeth. _Almost._ “I love you, but I’ve been letting you slack off, and that ends _now._ Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

She took off his collar and tied his leash around his neck, knotting it tight over his Adam’s apple. “Good.”

As Jon figured out how to breathe, Dany went back to her duffel bag and pulled out a [ cat o’ nine tails ](https://imgur.com/a/JPywD) in her favorite colors, embellished with small, sharp metal tips, which she’d done as a craft project during her third-trimester bedrest. “Isn’t it cute?” She dangled it in front of Jon’s face like a cat toy.

Jon grinned stupidly. “Yes, Daddy.”

To catch him off guard, Dany took one big step behind him and turned as quickly as she could, bringing the whip down across his numb back with as much strength as she could muster. _Still not on my A game._ But her A-minus game was pretty good, too; evidenced by the welts already forming when she brought down the second lash.

Jon fidgeted, and let out a grunt of mild discomfort, but stayed otherwise silent. _Good,_ she thought. The metal tips were enough to bring any man to tears, but Jon seemed to feel nothing. _You’ll only feel it when it’s too late._ The plan was Classic Daenerys.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he muttered, surprised at his own pain threshold.

“Harder? Or have you turned into a weak little bitch on me?”

“No, Daddy. Harder, please!”

 _Damn right._ So she granted his wish, straight down the center of his back. Then again with a backhand, which turned seamlessly into a graceful forehand, and once more down the center, as the first drops of blood beaded where the tips had scratched him.

 _Fuck, that’s good._ Unexpectedly good; more than the usual sadistic head rush. It was a relief; a badly needed return to the mental haven of absolute power that had ironically eluded her since she’d seized exactly that, over the most powerful country on Earth.

In the week since the coup, she’d spent way too much time reassuring everyone of what she _wouldn’t_ do; that her policy changes would come with reasonable notice. _When I feel like it._ That she had no designs on Britain itself or its other former colonies. _For now._ That she’d listen to dissenting voices. _So long as they remember their place._

In Iraq, it was enough simply to prove herself the strongest and most ruthless leader in a country full of strong, ruthless wannabes. _But not here_. The key to power in America, and the promise on which she rose to it, was to cut through the Gordian knot that its people had tied their government into. But that knot was the only thing holding the country together, and cutting it would be more surgery than swordplay.

It made it all seem like a pyrrhic victory, and Dany had no intention of being another Pyrrhus. But eviscerating the only man she'd ever truly loved into a sobbing, mindless mass of torn, bloody flesh reassured her of what being Queen _wouldn’t_ do to her as a woman. It wouldn’t take this away from her, cameras and scrutiny be damned. It wouldn’t stop her from being who she was in private, no matter what she had to pretend to the rest of the world.

She hit him again, putting her weight into it. Jon screamed, and thanked her like he should, but squirmed to one side and tried to huddle against the base of the statue.

 _Nope._ She stepped forward and dug her knee between his legs, pressing his balls against the marble. “Get the fuck back where you were.”

“I’m sorry…”

Ignoring the apology, she kicked his legs apart, licked her middle finger, and showed him where it went. “Shoulders back, legs spread, ass out.” She wiggled her finger and watched the wave of pleasure coursing through his body. “So I can do some fucking damage.”

Jon repositioned himself, smarter than to babble more futile contrition. _You’re adorable when you look like a bitch in heat._

“Alysanne’s dead, you know,” she casually tossed out there, right before her next downswing.

Jon gasped, more from the comment than the whip. “What?!”

Dany giggled. “I’m fucking with you.” And she was. The Princess was fine, safely back at the White House with her small army of caregivers. She hit him again. “But _that’s_ the sort of mood I’m in.” Again. Harder. Leather cracked against flesh and echoed off the marble walls. “ _That's_ the depth of pain I’m gonna make you feel.” Again; almost buckling his knees. _Don't be such a bitch, I'm just getting started._ “ _That’s_ how bad I'll fuck you up!” Again. His voice broke as he screamed, and the monster inside demanded she break the rest of him.

 _I’ve missed you too, Inner Monster._ For the first time since she murdered that whore of a spy, Dany finally felt like herself again. Being a mother was a joy she couldn’t comprehend until she became one. But being a monster was what made her get up in the morning, and made her who she was. _You’re both. You always will be. And more. A conqueror. A tyrant. A god. Own it. Love it._ Were she not, she wouldn’t have seized the family business from her father’s Board of Directors, or commanded the loyalty of its thousands of soldiers.  She wouldn’t have stolen a second army from Krazyns in her murder-merger, let alone a whole country from Hizdahr zo Loraq. She wouldn’t have stolen her pride back from Viserys, or brought him to long-overdue justice. She wouldn’t have turned Margaery Tyrell, or Jaime Lannister, or Jon Fucking Snow into puppets at her fingertips.

 _Jon, most of all._ He’d been the most difficult acquisition, but the most precious, and the most complete and indelible. The man’s whole being was hers. Every move, every thought, every craving, every hope, every fear. His life was hers to ruin and remake; to save, or to end. _He’s lucky I love him._ Though if she had to, she’d kill him without flinching all the same.

 _But then I wouldn’t get to do shit like this anymore._ She lashed her husband again across that perfect back of his, as numb to the pain as she was numb to her own fatigue.

Jon let out the most beautiful groan. Agony, fear, and flashes of instinctive hate, for using their daughter’s life to torment him for fun. And for once, she wouldn’t beat out of him. Protecting Alysanne was the one bit of free will she’d allow him, even if it meant defying her. Dany would never harm the girl, and would grievously harm anyone who so much as looked at her the wrong way. But she knew herself, and she knew she’d need someone to rein her in. She couldn’t murder for the hell of it anymore; even some juicehead from South Jersey like Daario Naharis. _You need reasons, now._ Not necessarily good reasons, but reasons nonetheless. Like how her subordinates justified strip clubs as ‘team-building’ on expense reports. But she only wanted Jon to pull her reins, only for the sake of their daughter.

 _But this doesn’t concern her. Touch those reins now, and I’ll cut your fucking hand off._ She hit him once more. “Do you feel it yet?!”

“Yes, Daddy.” His back was a gorgeous red mess.

“No. You don’t. You haven’t even _begun_ to feel it.”

Were Jon’s back a canvas dripping paint, and not a human body dripping blood, she could hang it in a gallery. Purple bruises, red gashes, trickles of blood converging into streams, all on top of the most perfect male specimen she’d ever seen. _Beat him. Destroy him. Perfect him. He’s your art. Make him priceless._

She felt her clit harden, demanding its due. And for the first time since the baby, she unzipped her pants and indulged it. Slowly at first, still not sure how much she could take. But the more she let her fingers wander, the more confident she became. She bit her lip, gave it a nice, long tease and hit him again.

 _Harder. Don’t let it distract you. It’s more fun when you drag it out._ A few more lashes and she’d found her groove; the perfect balance of beating and stroking. Every crack of the whip against his back her on, and made her want to hit him harder, which turned her on more. It snowballed viciously until his back was more bruises than skin, and those beautiful, manly grunts of his turned to soft, broken whimpers.

 _Lidocaine’s wearing off. Do it. Now._ Dany dropped the whip, zipped her pants up, and went back to her bag. First out was the strap-on. It was the standard model with a harness, not her beloved Black Dread, as she wasn’t yet ready to be penetrated. _Sadly._ But it was dreadful enough, at least for him.

She pulled his head back and shoved it summarily down his throat before she put it on. “Fluff Daddy.” As Jon fluffed, Dany pulled out a five-pound bag of salt, and set it down in front of him, letting him dream up all the wonderful things she might do with it. _Go on, dream._ She pushed her cock further down his throat, then let up a bit, then pushed even further; testing his gag reflex or lack thereof, watching his face twist as the numbness in his back faded away, and he realized how harsh she’d truly been.

Once the tears came in a steady flow, she stood behind him and smacked his bleeding back with two flat palms. “Now do you feel it?”

Jon nodded, holding it together remarkably well. _No restraints, and he still takes it._ She loved that man.

“ _Fuck you!_ ” She smacked him in the back of the head, pulled her cock from his mouth, and strapped it on. “That’s _nothing!_ ” She grabbed the salt with one hand, lining up and pushing into his ass with the other. “You don’t even know the _meaning_ of pain.” She sprinkled the salt over his back, liberally, and massaged it into his wounds like a spice rub. “ _This_ is pain, darling. And it’s only the beginning.” _And if you haven't figured it out, there's no middle or end._ She dug her nails into his back and dragged them down over the wounds. “Do you see now?!”

“Yes, Da—” was all he could manage, before his words melted into screams. Dany reached forward to his neck and grabbed the leash she’d tied around his neck, shoving the leather loop handle into his mouth as a makeshift gag.

“Bite it.” She gave him a good hard thrust, well into the vicious cycle of hurting him and wanting more. “Fucking pussy.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips over one of his deeper cuts, squeezing his broken skin together with her teeth and sucking the blood out like juice from a peach. _Warm. Salty. More._ So she took more, because it was there; because she wanted it; because no one could stop her. _More, more, more! More, you sick cunt! MORE!!_

Her hips began to roll on their own once she tasted the blood, and she yanked him closer to her. _It's never enough. More!_ She grabbed his shoulder with one hand, and smeared more blood around his back with the other; licking her palm and fingers, moaning and grunting, squeezing the muscles in her ass, feeling them already growing sore. _You’re out of practice,_ she realized. _Oh, well. Back to the grind._

Jon was still in tears, though she could hear the pleasure creep into his sobs. _Because you're my little slut now, and you always will be. King, war hero, father, Adonis, and shredded-up slut._

“You love that, don’t you?” Dany growled and smacked his ass. “Don’t you?!” _Of course he does._ In Dany’s experience, everyone learns to love a good rape up the ass. _The trick is to take away the choice._

Jon winced, and pulled himself together just enough for an “uh huh…”

 _Mmmm._ That was even better than real words. _I’ll give you those back when you’ve earned them._ “That’s right, you do.” _And don’t you fucking forget it._ “Because you’re my fucking _whore!_ ”She gave him another flat-palmed slap to the center his back and rubbed some salt in deeper, so he’d remember.

The more she pounded away at that perfect little ass of his, the harder she found it to keep her hand from wandering to that locked up little cock of his. _Not for a month,_ she reminded herself, as Jon’s wounds grew swollen and blistered. _Don’t do anything stupid._

But the more she thought of it, the harder it was to resist. Stupidly, she reached down and ran the backs of her fingertips down his abdomen, hoping she’d somehow be able to will his cage out of existence. But she had no such luck. _Ugh, it’s right there!_

She dumped some more salt on his back and fucked him harder, faster, to punish him for having such a beautiful cock. _Bitch._ Jon yelped, then groaned in exhausted agony, then backed that whorish little ass up, drawing her cock in deeper.

 _I’ve fucked you up real good, haven’t I?_ She leaned down to lick up some more of his blood, but got a tongue full of salt. _Fuck this._ She had baby weight to lose, and the sodium wouldn’t help. _And that fucking cock is right there, what am I to do?_ That was a rhetorical question; she knew exactly what to do.

“ _Fuck_ , I can’t stand it anymore!” She pulled out, slapped him hard on the ass, and went for the bag again. “Where is it…”

Jon moaned, like an injured cat in a cold bath, as Dany rifled through her bag.

 _Yesssssss._ Out came a battery-powered [ pruning saw](https://imgur.com/e7f5UR7), with a grip and trigger, because Dany carried shit like that around like most women carried Tide pens and gum. _And because you knew it would come to this,_ she admitted. She squeezed the trigger a few times, to rev it up a bit and draw Jon’s attention. Once he’d gotten a good look and widened his eyes in a sufficient level of fear, she stood behind him again and held the blade over the lock of his cage.

“Should I let you out, dear?” She whispered sweetly and teased his balls.

Miserable as he was, he still nodded, sucking snot back up his nose.

 _Men are hilarious._ She squeezed the trigger again, just to tease him. “But what if I slip? What if I slice it right the fuck off?”

“No,” Jon uttered, pained and breathless. “Bad.”

Dany laughed and kissed him on the cheek, because that was precious. “You know I’m not that clumsy, though. You trust me not to slip.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.” She pinched the lock between two fingers, and carefully pressed the blade against the shackle. “But maybe I’ll do it on purpose.”

Jon squirmed, but Dany leaned forward, pinning him against the statue.

“Keep resisting me, and I might just do it,” she hissed into his ear. “And if doubt me for a second, you have no idea who the _fuck_ I am.”

To put a fine point on it, she kept going once the blade was through the metal, only stopping when it had cut part of the way into his plastic cage. He let out a startled gasp, just before she finally relented, dropping the saw and fiddling with the cage until it finally came off.

Jon adjusted himself, trying to find an appropriate position to get his cock sucked, like his opinion counted for shit. Dany held him in place, slid down onto the floor beneath him with her back against the base of the statue, and squeezed his cock in her hand.

 _Mmm. Power._ Loath as she was to admit it, Dany always sensed an inherent power in a hardening cock. _Fucking patriarchy._ But that was alright. _I'll replace it with a Danyarchy._

Jon’s mind was too consumed with pain, and his body struggling too hard to support its own weight, but his cock was as rested and eager as she’d ever seen it. _Yummy, yummy, yummy. Mine, mine, mine._ She felt it grow and pulse against her palm as she stroked it, and teased his balls with the tip of her tongue.

 _Enough teasing._ Dany wanted that fucking thing in her mouth, so she took it. Jon moaned and caught himself, as the pleasure brought him to the verge of collapse. _You’ll collapse when I tell you to collapse._ She wiggled out of the strap-on, unzipped her pants again, and slid a hand back down beneath her panties. Her moans mixed with his as she sucked; a symphony of pain and depravity.

“Please,” Jon managed to whisper, his voice still shaking.

Dany neither knew nor cared what he was begging for, and ignored him, save for a tug on his balls, reminding him never to presume to interrupt her. Jon sucked his breath through his teeth and exhaled in wordless surrender. _That’s it, slut. Much better._ Her clit pulsed as her finger brushed against it, and she contemplated the full extent of her own power, in every sense imaginable.

That lit the fire. She took him deeper into her mouth; her fingers circling slowly but methodically over her clit. Jon’s hips began to roll; agony be damned. _Jesus Tapdancing Christ on a stick, I want him in my fucking cunt._ She slapped his balls and bit down on his cock to punish him; not because it was his fault, but because she felt like punishing something, and his body was the most convenient target.

Jon screamed. _Hot._ His cock throbbed from the pain. _Even hotter._ Dany moaned, arched her back, and sucked some more. _Bitch can’t even get off unless I hurt him._ Her legs jerked involuntarily as the pleasure started to build. Jon, still in tears and without even a hint of permission, grabbed her head to hold it in place and began to thrust.

 _Fuck. Yes. Fuck my face, you sick little animal._ And he did. Normally, Dany would have whipped the shit out of him for that. But his misery was too hot, and his cock too delicious, so she decided to enjoy it.

She took her free hand and grabbed his ass, still sliced and swollen, and squeezed her encouragement. _Do it. Fuck me like a whore. You’ll pay for it later, but that’s your problem._ Moans escaped from her lips around his cock as she opened her jaw and gave herself to him, to do with as he pleased.

The more reckless he got, the harder she worked her clit, until it throbbed with her racing heartbeat. Her own hips went from writhing to outright bucking as she lost control of herself, inching toward the cliff. The tyrant in her rushed to the front of her mind again. _Beat him to it._

Suddenly, that was all she cared about. Her heels kicked against the floor as she resisted the urge to put her fingers inside herself, and raced furiously toward her peak. _Come on, come on, come on._ Her body tensed up, and she dug her nails into his ass to steady herself and focus.

That sent her over the edge. Dany screamed onto his cock, then pulled it quickly out of her mouth, fighting the urge to see what happened if she bit it off. The back of her head slammed against the marble, but the ecstasy made even that feel good. _More! Fuck! Yes! Now!_ Her screams echoed off the stone walls of the crypt, reverberation as her legs shook beyond her control.

She was a teenager the last time she’d gone a week between orgasms, and her body was determined to make up the slack. Her clit twitched and pulsed; her fingers suddenly found themselves coated. She tasted herself, then looked up and dragged her nails down his stomach, those fucking abs of his still clenched tight from crying.

Jon loved that, and inched forward, hoping his cock would stumble into her mouth. _Gimme that._ She let it stumble, then pressed her lips around it, sending it flying headlong down her throat.

Dany sucked like a concubine, content for the moment to let him think she might be. _That’s it,_ she coaxed him, purring softly onto his cock as she heard him moan. _Get weak for me. Weak and stupid, and only for me._

His whole body started to shake; his mind clearly devoid of anything but the need to release. At the last possible second, Dany pushed him away, hopped up onto the base of the statue, and pointed to her boots. “Go on.” She slapped him in his adorably disappointed face. “Make your little mess.”

Jon composed himself, as if she didn't know he'd been crying like a bitch the whole time. _Silly boy._ He looked at her, silently begging her to reconsider. _Who the fuck do you think you are?_

Dany pressed a boot to his chest and raised an eyebrow. “Did I stutter?!”

“No, Daddy.” He came to his senses, knelt, and went to work. Dany smiled as he fucked that fist of his, still pouting like a kid dragged empty-handed from a candy store.

That earned him another quick kick to the face. “ _Gratitude_ , you cheap fucking slut!”

Jon shook himself off. “I'm sorry, thank you, Daddy.” It knocked the brattiness off his face, but did nothing to slow his furious pumping to make up the ground he'd lost.

“You’d better be. I don't give a fuck, I'll stop you right now. Do you _want_ that?!”

“No, Daddy, please!”

“Please _what!_ ”

“Please, let me--” He stopped, grunted, and did it anyway.

 _Oh, you are so fucked._ He knew it, too, by the redness on his face, but at least he had the decency to aim properly. And there was a lot to aim; burst after burst of a week's denial erupted from his cock and splattered onto her boots.

Dany wiped some onto her finger and savored the taste, then looked at her watch. There was no time to exact payment for his presumptuousness. _Guess I'll have to charge interest._ Compound interest, in light of the insolent face-fucking earlier. She looked down at him and pointed at his mess. _Don't make me say it,_ her eyes warned him.

“I'm sorry, Daddy.”

 _Too late for that._ She spat in his face. “Stop polluting my air with your meaningless little words, and lick your filthy cock snot off my _fucking_ boots!”

Jon set to work on one boot. Dany kicked him in the side of his face with the other, smearing a nice bit of it all over his cheek. _Ugh, so cute._

“Look at you,” she sneered, tabling the matter of his cuteness. “All over your fucking face, like a back alley whore.” She pulled her boot away and pushed him by the side of his face to the other one. “I said, _lick it the FUCK up_ before it dries!” The poor boy was doing his best, but the whole point of the exercise was that his best would never be good enough. “What do you think is worth more to me? Fine leather, or your sad little face?!”

His beautiful, slutty eyes got all watery again, and he answered by getting back to his fucking job. Dany could sense him losing focus; licking for the sake of licking, blindly hoping that if he made himself pathetic enough, he’d please her and she’d let him stop.

“Come on, I have shit to do! I can’t be seen in public with fucking jizz all over me!” _You can, though._ The boy would walk into his first audience as royalty with bodily fluids on his face, and that was that. Dany slid her hand between her legs and gave him two fingers’ worth of her own, on his cheek, right below where her spit had landed. And a little bit under his nose, because she was feeling generous.

Jon was lost in his groveling. Dany let him finish, zipped up, then hopped down and pushed him onto his back with a boot to the chest. “Good enough. Shall we review today’s lesson, dear?”

Jon writhed around and planted a kiss on the sole of her boot.

 _A succinct and accurate summary._ She pulled it away and squatted over him. “Who am I?”

He caressed her legs in adoration. “You’re my only god,” he recited, just as she'd trained him. “My creator. My redeemer. My purpose. Your will is my beginning and end. I owe you my life, and all its joy and meaning. I am nothing, you are everything, and so it will always be.”

Dany smiled and pinched his cheeks. “Somebody’s been practicing.”

Jon blushed and kissed her hand.

 _Goddamnit, he’s being adorable again._ She smacked him, to keep them both focused. “But what do we pretend to be?”

“Equals, Daddy.”

“That’s right.” She looked down and stroked his cheek. “Ridiculous, I know. But are you ready to pretend?”

Jon nodded like a child.

“Good.” She gave him another slap-and-spit.  “Roll over. Face down.”

Jon obeyed, but groaned from the pain like an old man. Dany opened her suitcase and came back with an Ace bandage with back support, a small towel, another bottle of water, and some hydrogen peroxide. The latter scared him when he spotted it, and he whimpered and tried to squirm away.

Dany smacked him on both ass cheeks and dug her nails in, to keep him in place. “Sssh.” She rubbed his earlobe softly between her thumb and forefinger to soothe him once he’d stopped moving. “I’m fixing you, silly boy.”

He believed her, like he believed she was a god and the best thing to ever happen to him, and he was right on all three counts. Dany cleaned his wounds, dried them off, and applied the bandage with another generous helping of lidocaine. She let him seethe and wince until the pain subsided, then helped him to his feet.

“See?” She ran her hands up his chest, cupped his face, lost herself in his red but smiling eyes, and kissed him softly on the lips. “I take good care of my sluts.” _Some of them._ “Now let’s wake you up and get you some clothes.”

Dany went back to her suitcase and tossed Jon some more water, a bottled Starbucks cold brew, and a Clif Bar. As Jon wolfed it all down, Dany got his suit from her suitcase; dark grey, with a white shirt and red power tie, because it was his first day on the job as royalty, and she needed him to look like a boss. She tied his tie for him, finished the ensemble with a Glock 9 millimeter on a shoulder holster and a book of matches in his pocket, then helped him into his jacket. _He gets hotter by the minute,_ she noticed, once he was fully dressed. _Grab his cock and balls._ She did. _Control yourself._ She did that too, albeit reluctantly.

“You're gonna be a good little King for me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“You’re gonna show them what happens to traitors?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Dany planned for His Majesty to make that abundantly clear.

“And you’re not gonna flinch when you do it, are you?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Good boy.” She pulled his crown from her suitcase and placed it on his head. His was even simpler than hers; an inch-wide band of yellow gold, including some they'd taken out of his father’s ring to resize it. Dany was sweet like that, but more importantly, she got the strong sense that his sisters needed constant ass-kissing, lest they cause trouble.

They made their way two floors up to the Rotunda, where she’d assembled the herd of arthritic old white guys previously known as Cersei Lannister’s cabinet. Joined by Missandei, Dany stood inconspicuously in the hallway, just outside the threshold, and surveyed the room. There were no cameras, no staff, and their phones had all been confiscated at the door, both for snooping purposes, and to prevent anyone from recording what was about to happen. Ample guards with rifles lined the perimeter.

She picked out the former Secretaries of Who Gives a Shit. _Swyft, Kettleblack, Rosby, Merriweather, Redwyne, Stokeworth…_ _In other words, nobody._ But they were useful nobodies, who could run their respective bureaucracies until she found people more suitable. _Tarly’s here. Good._ He and Cersei had split up when they fled Camp David, and was as clueless as to her whereabouts as everyone else. _And Baelish,_ defiling her boi Hamilton’s former office with his Baelishness.

Behind the cabinet were the Dow 30 CEOs, and some tech bros who'd fallen ass-backward into billions selling dildos that picked _Scandal_ reruns based on the pH levels in your snatch or whatever. Most notable from the business crowd was Tywin Lannister, who hadn't appeared publicly in years, and for good reason. Wheelchair-bound, the scariest thing about him was the reminder of what aging does to the body. The second scariest was his appropriately Mr. Burns-like eyes, but the rest of him was a shambles, only barely resembling the man Dany remembered from childhood; one of the few people scary enough to occasionally talk some sense into her father.

Their thrones had been placed next to each other on a set of concrete steps, with a small table between them with a microphone on it, against a wall between two large paintings; one of the signing of the Declaration of Independence; the other of the surrender of British forces at Yorktown. Her dragon seal had been stenciled over the center of both of them in red spray paint. Alexander Hamilton, whose statue had been in Dany's spot, was moved to her left but otherwise kept intact, because he was cool, for a traitor. Grant, Lincoln, Eisenhower, Susan B. Anthony, and Martin Luther King were also untouched, but the rest of the statues stood headless.

Dany smiled at Jon and patted him on the ass. “Go, darling. Kill for Daddy.”

The crowd stood awkwardly as Jon entered the room, and sat as he took his throne. Nobody knelt, nor did he ask them to.

“Morning, everybody,” he began, all humble and unpretentious. “Daenerys will be here in a minute, but she wanted me to kick this off. I’m ‘The Nice One,’ I guess.” He chuckled, bringing the tense crowd along with him, and smiled that fuckable smile of his. “Obviously, you have concerns, and that's totally understandable, so I’ll try to address them the best I can. Who wants to go first?”

A few hands rose, slow and uncertain. Only Randyll Tarly’s went up without hesitation.

Jon smiled and waved him forward. “Secretary Tarly. Please, have a seat up here.”

Tarly seemed surprised, but went along with it. _Idiot._ Jon gestured toward Dany’s throne, assured him no harm would come if he sat in it, and handed him the microphone. When he realized he hadn’t been shot yet, he seemed to get a burst of courage.

“I have a concern,” he said. “I object to this whole system. You and your wife betrayed the country you were both born in, and overthrew a government chosen by its people in a free and fair election. Your wife is a sadistic psychopath, and the fact that she’s still alive is a step backward for civilization. Neither of you has any right to be here. Step down now, and maybe we won’t have you executed.” Dany smiled and blushed at ‘sadistic psychopath.’

Jon nodded. “I figured someone might say something like that. And I respect it, I really do.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the book of matches, and lit one. “So my wife and I have prepared a statement.”

Tarly gave Jon a strange look. From behind, a guard emptied a can of gasoline over his head, like he’d just said ‘gasoline’ on _You Can’t Do That on Television._ Jon touched the flame to the rest of the match heads, lighting them all at once, and tossed the book into his lap.

He flew out of his seat, screaming, as the flames enveloped his shirt. _Damnit, I’m wet again._ Dany clenched her fists to keep her hands from going straight back to her clit. _Do it, bitch. Kill for me._

The crowd gasped and pushed each other in every direction, desperately looking for an exit, tripping over the velvet ropes that surrounded their seats. More guards poured into the room, armed with flamethrowers. Some let out a quick burst of flame as a warning.

The sniveling little pussy who’d been licking Dany’s boots minutes earlier was gone, replaced by the monster she’d planted inside him. _Hello, Your Majesty._

And majestic he was. Dany stepped into the threshold to get a better view. Nobody noticed but Jon; everyone else was too terrified to pay attention. She smiled and blew him a kiss. Jon smiled back, and she thought of nothing but scraping it off with her cunt.

He pulled the pistol from his breast pocket, and shot Tarly in both kneecaps, sending him face-first to the floor, and shouted over his shrieks. “ _Kneel!_ Unless you want to end up like him!” One more shot, right in the fleshy part of his ass.

 _Good boy._ Jon had been so damn nice when she'd first met him. _Now he's Patty Hearst with the nuclear codes._ Dany bit her lip, but the depraved smile spread across her face regardless.

With no other choice, the crowd hit the floor, more ducking than kneeling. Most of them covered their heads and closed their eyes. _Good enough._

But Jon wasn't satisfied. “No, no no!” He fired another shot over the crowd’s head, hitting the decapitated statue of Andrew Jackson right in the chest, and pointing at the burning, dying man with his other hand. “Look at him! All of you! Look what happens!” _Fuck, that’s hot._

There wasn’t much left to look at, save for Tarly’s last hopeless flops, like a fish running out of air. When the screams finally subsided, a guard doused him with a fire extinguisher, and another other grabbed his ankles and dragged his blackened body from the room.

Jon put his gun away. “I hope that statement clarifies our policy on treason. Now pick those ropes up, straighten your chairs, and take a knee for The Mean One.”

 _We are the cutest couple._ Dany marched in as the crowd knelt in terrified silence, save for some scattered crying. _Mmmm._ She took her husband’s hands and kissed him quickly and tastefully on the lips, then sat beside him. Silently, with her back straight and her regal bearing turned up to eleven, she held her hand out. Missandei reached into her bag and handed her a breast pump. Without saying a word, Dany unbuttoned her shirt, popped a titty out, and fired it up.

Her eyes went straight to Tywin Lannister, who had stayed in his wheelchair, looming conspicuously over everyone else. To his credit, he stared right back at her, doing his best not to look terrified.

“You,” Dany commanded him, “see me after class. The rest of you may sit.”

They rose and sat. _They’d do the Electric Slide if I told them to._

“Here’s how this will work,” she announced, still pumping. “We shall remain here until we reach an accord on my governing agenda. When we’re done, if you want to leave this room alive, you’ll bend the knee on camera. The policies I've already announced are non-negotiable, as is our sovereignty over you, as Mr. Tarly can attest. But I didn't come here to be King George IV or the reincarnation of my father. I plan on a long reign, and I need your confidence that I will rule fairly. Now, how do we feel about corn subsidies?”

And so they began. Dany spent most of the day bitching and moaning theatrically, to make them think they were exacting painful concessions. She ended up promising to overhaul the tax code and streamline the regulatory system, both of which she’d planned to do all along. Six hours later, the cameras finally appeared _en masse_ to capture each of them kneeling at her feet and pledging their loyalty to the Crown. Dany congratulated herself for the foresight to wear dark leather pants, as the wet spot between her legs would have been way too obvious in anything else.

When she’d finally let the rest of the crowd disperse, a guard wheeled Tywin Lannister to the base of the two thrones. She looked down at him with that contempt she found so singularly satisfying to look down at Lannisters with. “I’m seizing your mines, and the rest of your assets with them.”

“That belongs to my family.” His voice was soft, and his speech labored, but she could still hear the remnants of the deep boom that had made him such an imposing figure in his prime. “It’s not yours to take.”

 _Everything in this world is mine to take._ “Your family has cornered the market on rare earth minerals, and that’s too important to national security. I can’t leave it in the hands of a bitter old man with a frivolous grudge. Now that that’s settled--”

“Frivolous grudge?” A bit of strength returned to his voice. “You stole my children.”

 _You have frivolous children._ Dany scoffed. “Yet you only mention them _after_ we’ve agreed that I’m be taking all your money. Is that a reflection of your priorities, or an admission of defeat?”

“Neither.”

“Very well. Dementia, then. Now, let’s get to the oath.”

Tywin made some pitiful gesture with his mouth, that may have been an attempt to spit at her feet. “It’s not worth my time. You’ll die before me.”

Dany rolled her eyes, sighed, and drummed her fingertips on the arm of her throne. “You know what? I’ll spare you the burning.” _For now._ “I’d rather you live long enough to see everything you care about slip away.” She looked at the guard holding his wheelchair. “Take him to Greenwich. Keep him in the main residence. Treat him well, and don’t let him die until I get there.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Dany stood and spat at his feet. “I think that’s what you were going for. Run along, now.”

With that, the guard wheeled him out. Dany held out her hand for Jon, and they left together for their motorcade back to the White House.

Tyrion met them as soon as they got back. “How was the meeting?”

 _Oh, shut the fuck up._ The man with a dorm named after him at Prostitute University had suddenly decided that Her Majesty was ignoring the religious community. He’d been bitching about it all week, and Dany was sick of it. She had countless meetings over the coming weeks, mostly with marginalized groups, whom she actually planned to help, for once. _I haven’t even marginalized them yet._

“I suggest you increase your 401(k) contribution,” she replied flatly. Jon kissed her on the cheek and left to check on the baby, as Dany made for the Oval Office. Tyrion and Missandei followed.

“Okay,” said Tyrion, confused. “What about--”

“The topic of Iraq never came up, nor was it expected to. So how, exactly, is any of this in your purview?”

“It’s not,” he conceded, “but--”

“But you got passed over for Hand of the Queen by a woman half your age, and you’re bitter about it.”

“I’m concerned, Your Majesty. Like I’ve said before, you need to do more to court the religious vote.”

“ _Vote?!_ ” Dany gave him the death stare. _If you want me to smack the living fuck out of you, just ask._

Tyrion shrank away, like they all did, but persisted nonetheless. “You know what I mean. If Americans think you hate religion, you’re fucked. Find some priests, and some rabbis, and--”

“Walk into a bar?”

They reached the Oval Office.

“Kiss their asses for an hour, use the G-word every now and then, and protect yourself from a fucking revolt!”

Dany sat at her desk. “If people think I hate religion, it’s because I do. All these people want is to tell everyone who they can fuck, and when, and in what holes, and make people want to kill themselves if they even think of disobeying. I’m well into a literal world domination plot, and I only do that to a lucky few.”

Tyrion sighed. “Yeah, you should rein that in, too. This isn’t Iraq; if word gets out, people won’t write it off as par for the course. You have to make _some_ concessions, here.”

“You want concessions? Fine.” She turned to Missandei. “Get the slaves.”

Dany fished through her desk drawer while they waited, found the keys and pills she was looking for, and put them in her pocket.

After a tense, awkward silence, she gave Tyrion the once-over. “You know what you are? You’re a walking dick pic. Five percent of the time, you’re exactly what I need. Otherwise, you’re an unsolicited nuisance.”

“And disappointingly short?”

“You said it, not me.”

Missandei returned with the slave girls, who prostrated, naked, over the presidential seal on the rug. _I need to throw that out,_ Dany reminded herself. Each slave’s wrists were cuffed in front of them, bound by a long chain.

Tyrion slid uncomfortably to the floor. “I’ll come back later.”

“Oh, no.” Dany snapped her fingers and planted his ass back in his seat. “This is your doing. You’ll witness it.”

She stood before the slaves. “Eyes to mine,” she commanded in Arabic. “I’m told I must make ‘concessions,’ whatever that means, so you’re hereby dismissed from my service.”

They looked at their master, speechless. _You sweet little nothings don’t even understand the concept, do you?_

“Palms out.”

The girls each presented their palms to Her Majesty. Technically they didn’t have to, but abject obedience was all they’d known for years. _They can’t live without it,_ Dany suspected.

She retrieved the two small keys and cyanide capsules she’d found in her desk, and laid one of each in their palms. “I’ll give you a choice. Remove your chains, and I’ll clear an island in the South Pacific for you. You’ll live like royalty, with servants of your own and every comfort you can ask for, but you'll never feel my presence again. Or, you can die a quick, painless death at my feet.” She folded her hands behind her back. “There are no tricks. Close your eyes and decide for yourselves. Don’t concern yourself with the other’s choice.”

In near unison, both girls dropped their keys and placed the pills slowly into their mouths; trembling, but at the same time relieved, and almost grateful. Drape Girl bit down first; Closet Girl immediately after, as if Dany would punish her for straggling. They both opened their eyes and looked up at her with nothing but gratitude, clutched her legs and laid one last kiss to her thighs, then heaved, gagged, and collapsed face-down in front of her.

 _Knew it._ Dany extricated herself from their corpses, then turned to Tyrion. “There’s your concession. Now drag them out, and have them burned. They’re your mess, you clean them up.”

Freshly reminded of what Dany was, Tyrion stood, nodded, and dragged Closet Girl out by her ankles.

“And get Bronn!” She sat back down, and turned to Missandei, as Closet Girl’s dead arms slid out the door. “Pop quiz, Hand of the Queen, why did I do that?”

“To put Tyrion in his place,” she answered. “He forgets to fear you sometimes.”

Dany smiled. “Very good. And?”

Missandei hesitated. “Because he was right?”

 _Yes, but..._ “Fuck him. Try again.” _You know the answer, but you don’t want to say it._ She could read it on the Hand’s face. “Two young, healthy, beautiful women just killed themselves because they’d rather die as my slaves than live free without me. What’s going on between my legs right now?”

“I can imagine, Your Majesty.” Missandei blushed and looked away.

 _Oh, no you don’t._ “Look at me.” _Not fast enough,_ she decided in an instant. “ _Look at me!_ ”

Poor girl looked ready to piss herself. _And rightly so._ She whimpered an apology, which Dany ignored.

“My pussy is _drenched,_ and the only reason I’m not painting your face with it is this fucking childbirth. Remember that, lest _you_ forget to fear me.”

Missandei shifted in her chair. _You’re wet, too. Don’t deny it._ “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Dany took that as confirmation. “Good.” She let her glare thaw slowly into a friendly smile and drummed on the desk with her knuckles. “Ready for some fun?”

Missandei smiled back wickedly, following Dany’s mood like a dog on a leash. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Fuck with him. I command it.”

Bronn entered, in a suit befitting his new role in the Secret Service, which made him look like a homeless Man in Black. He stepped over Drape Girl’s body like a puddle on the sidewalk, as Tyrion came back to clear it out.

“‘Sup?”

Dany pointed to the chair in front of her desk, next to Missandei. “Have a seat.”

“Am I being fired?”

 _If I was firing you, you’d be on fire._ Dany grinned silently, enjoying his face as the tension grew unbearable.

“We’re making you Secretary of the Interior,” Missandei informed him.

“Interior of what?”

“ _The_ interior,” Missandei clarified. _Lolololololololololol._ “All of it!”

Bronn wasn’t fit to be secretary of his own dickhole. He scrunched his face. “Is that better or worse than being fired?”

“I’m surprised,” Dany smiled, “I thought you’d be excited.”

“Why?”

Missandei feigned confusion. “Isn’t it obvious?”

By the look on Bronn’s face, it was not at all obvious.

“It’s not a lot of work,” she promised.

“Is it a raise?”

Dany snickered. “Sure, why not? Come with me.” She stood, and led Bronn by the hand toward the East Room, like a stripper to a VIP booth, bouncing her ass playfully.

He trailed by a step or two. “Where are we going?”

“Your first meeting, Mr. Secretary!”

Bronn followed, because he was fucked either way. “With who?”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll fit right in, I promise.” Dany handed him a folded up paper from her pocket. “Here, I’ve prepared your opening remarks.” She watched him go pale as he read. _Haven’t prayed to the Great Spirit in a while?_

> _Nuppeantam. Keihtanit, taubot neanawayean yeu kesukuk._
> 
> _Taubot neanawayean ohke. Taubot neanawayean okummus nepauzshadd. Taubot neanawayean wutt∞tchìkkìnneasin nippawus. Taubot neanawayean newutche yau ut nashik ohke: wompanniyeu, sowanniyeu, pahtatunniyeu, nannummiyeu. Taubot neanawayean newutche wame neetompaog: neg pamunenutcheg, neg pamompakecheg, puppinashimwog, mehtugquash kah moskehtuash, namohsog. Quttianumoonk weechinnineummoncheg: ahtuk, mosq, mukquoshim, tunnuppasog, sasasō._
> 
> _Keihtanit, taubot neanawayean yeu kesukuk._

“Listen.” He scratched the back of his head. “I, uh...I'm not--”

“Oh my God, I'm so sorry. You’re from Boston, so I assumed you were a Massachusett. That was so racist of me.” She smiled, mocking and evil. “Please, say a prayer in your own dialect, then.”

They reached the entrance to the East Room. Bronn stopped in his tracks as he spotted the feathered war bonnets in the crowd. “Wait, wait, wait--”

“Nope.” Dany grabbed his arm and pushed him through the doorway. “Get in there, asshole.”

Bronn stepped to the podium, as Dany stayed out of view and watched through the doorway. The polite applause died down. “Um…” He cleared his throat. “ _Barukh ata Adonai Elohenu, melekh ha`olam,_ _hamotzi lehem min ha'aretz._ ”

Dany cackled, loud enough to be heard in the room. _That would not have been my first guess, though._

“I forgot what that means when I was thirteen,” Bronn told the baffled crowd. _You blessed some bread, Rabbi Crazy Horse._ “So, um, who knows what the Interior is?”


	12. Cersei I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much all Dany and Cersei, and all smut. (They don't really like each other.)

Cersei woke in a fog, as usual. _Is it morning?_ She hadn't seen natural light since Camp David, which she estimated was at least a month ago. The room she'd been in ever since was a massive concrete circle, with the floor space of a high school gymnasium, and eight identical metal doors. Above each was a small TV monitor, with numbers that changed at random, so she could never quite find her bearings. Through one of the doors, which may or may not have been the same door as yesterday, two soldiers rolled what looked like a giant roulette wheel with a bar sticking up from the center. _Not again._

Without speaking, the soldiers took off the prison jumpsuit and electric dog collar around her neck that kept her near the center of the room, dragged her out of the way by the handcuffs behind her back, and set up the wheel. _Please, not again._ But her mouth was too dry to speak the words. They picked her up, plopped her down cross-legged on the wheel, and chained her to the bar. One of them slid a sleeping mask over her eyes and spun her until she could feel her stomach twisting and churning, and her breath growing deep and heavy. They took the sleeping mask off and repeated, punishing her for closing her eyes with a bucket of ice water to the face. Then one last round with the mask back on.

When they finished, they released her, bound her arms and legs right back up, and dragged her toward the outer edge of the room where some grates lined the walls, to let her vomit. It was also her chance to do whatever else might require a grate. After that came another ice bucket 'shower' and vigorous scrubbing with a rough sponge, followed by a few minutes in front of a floor fan until she was shivering uncontrollably, followed by a few minutes in front of a space heater until the shivering turned to sweating.

Sometimes there was food; usually fish sandwiches from Burger King and fermented Japanese soybeans. Sometimes they’d force her to drink cheap vodka until she was nauseous, give her one more spin, then put her clothes and collar back on and abandon her. But not today.

One of the soldiers held her jaw open while the other brushed her teeth like a dog, then squirted some Listerine into her mouth from a plastic bottle and pointed at the grate. “Spit.”

She did, which earned her some water from a real bottle, followed by another helping of Listerine, and a mouth full of Altoids. As one soldier held her down, another squirted some shaving cream on her pubic hair and shaved her clean.

“Get up.”

Cersei stood, still dizzy. From the shadows came a man in a hat that looked like a peacock on ketamine, with his face painted half like a skeleton, half some kind of lizard. He stood before her, pulled an index card out of his back pocket, and sighed heavily.

“I am [Quetzalcoatl](https://imgur.com/a/ZVAX4bp), the Aztec god of wind and learning." He sounded like a Masshole. A miserable, humiliated Masshole. "I have come--"

A Wizard of Oz-like voice boomed over the loudspeakers. “ _Louder!_ " A synthesizer made it artificially deep, but Cersei knew precisely who it was.

‘Quetzalcoatl’ muttered something under his breath and started again. “ _I am Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec god of wind and learning!_ ”

“That’s it!” The voice shouted back. “Sell it!”

“I have come to take you on your spirit journey! Come! Many trials await!” One of the other soldiers snickered. Quetzalcoatl hit him upside the head. “Shut the fuck up.”

Cersei almost laughed. "Is this supposed to scare me?"

“Long story, don't worry about it.”

“Why do you work for such an evil woman?” _Plant the seed of doubt. Use him later._

He shrugged. "If you don’t mind the Caligula shit, she's actually a pretty chill boss. Half-day Fridays if you get your shit done."

The Wizard was back. “So get your shit done!”

“Right.”

Before Cersei could react, another soldier tased her to her knees and put the mask over her eyes again, but kept her naked and led her toward one of the doors. Inside, she could feel carpeting under her feet. The guard pushed her down to her knees once more, dragged her a bit more, burning her already-scraped knees on the carpet, then kicked her between the shoulder blades, sending her face to the floor.

Her fall was broken by soft leather. It wiggled a bit. _A boot._ A stiletto heel dug into her temple. _Two boots._

“Ew.” The Wizard’s voice was gone, replaced by the woman behind the curtain. “No makeup.”

It was catty and juvenile, but hurt more than Cersei cared to admit. “I’d rather be ugly than a tyrant.” That was the best she could do.

“Whatever you say, dear.” The boot heel left her cheek. “Pick her up.”

Cersei felt herself being pulled up. Soft fingertips pushed her hair behind her ears and stroked her cheek. Then came the lips on hers, then the tongue in her mouth. She tried to pull away in disgust. "Fuck you; you're _evil!_ You’ll die for what you’ve done!”

That only got her two hands around her throat, and what felt like a gun barrel against the back of her head.

“We have _days_ to sort out who's evil and who's dying.” Daenerys kept her voice low, soft, and seductive. “Right now, I just wanna make out." The kissing resumed. Cersei held still and relaxed her lips and tongue but did nothing to respond to her captor's kisses. Daenerys dug her thumbnails deeper into her throat and growled. "I said, pretend I'm your brother and put your tongue in my _fucking_ mouth.”

The advice actually worked. Cersei still hated it, but with no other choice, she took some small comfort in imagining Jaime. T _he old Jaime._ Not the petulant, treasonous Jaime she’d left at the White House, but the one she’d been in love with since she was a teenager. The only man who made her feel safe, who let her be who she really was, who supported her in everything, who never judged her or told her how to live her life. A thumb and forefinger tweaked her nipple; gently, almost lovingly. The tease caught her off guard, and she almost felt a hint of pleasure, like only the old Jaime could give her.

The kiss broke again, and the mask came off. Cersei tried to look away from the purple eyes but couldn't. They froze her, denying her even a fleeting glimpse of anything else in the room. Something sick and playful flared up in them. “You’re mine.”

A pair of ankles wrapped around the small of Cersei’s back, pulling her in closer. Daenerys leaned down, and Cersei saw where she was. _How did she do it?_ It was the Lincoln Bedroom, precisely as Cersei had left it. _Then what was that other room, and why didn’t anyone tell me about it?_ She spotted the window. _Night._

The heat of Daenerys’s breath grazed Cersei’s ear while her soft, sweet voice buried itself in her mind. “ _More._ ”

Before Cersei could reply, their tongues were rolling around each other again. _Say something! Do something! You’re the leader of the free world!_ She tried to fight, but the gun barrel pressed harder against the back of her head.

For lack of other options, Cersei lost herself in the kiss. _Maybe this isn’t so bad._ Her lips were soft; her tongue textured just enough to make Cersei stir between the legs a bit. _It’s an enhanced interrogation. That’s it. This doesn’t really feel good._ _You’re fatigued and disoriented. Suggestible._

Daenerys pulled her up, moving the kisses to her neck. _Fuck._ It felt good, undeniably. _It’s a dream,_ Cersei told herself. _Even nightmares can feel good._

But none had ever been so vivid; no kisses from a stranger so perfect. Soft lips, light sucking. A nip and a tug. A stroke of the tongue that started out broad and sharpened to teasing flicks. Then the same in a different spot.

Daenerys leaned back, pulling Cersei on top of her. The gun cocked, just in case. Her hands were as soft and perfect as her tongue, sliding from her stomach up to her breasts, clenching and squeezing. Thumbs brushed over Cersei’s nipples, hardening them in spite of herself.

The light strokes turned to pinching, pulling, and twisting, forcing a moan out of Cersei’s mouth. _Pain. Disgust. That’s all. No shame in that._

Daenerys giggled, bit her earlobe, and whispered, “boob job.”

It was true, and that did shame her. _Who did you think you were fooling?_ Daenerys's mouth pressed firmly against hers. Her hands left Cersei's breasts; one to cup her face, and the other to tease her legs apart. _Don’t do it._ But she did anyway. A finger slid briefly inside, coated itself, and did a victory lap around her clit.

The kissing stopped, and the face-cupping turned to jaw-squeezing, forcing Cersei’s mouth open for Daenerys’s finger. “Suck.”

Her own taste filled her mouth, as the finger took another victory lap around her lips.

“Enough.” Daenerys’s tone was cold, like she hadn’t enjoyed that in the least.

A soldier pushed Cersei back to her knees, finally giving her a look at Daenerys. [Louboutin thigh-highs](https://imgur.com/a/PaaZIOm), panties, and a [corset](https://imgur.com/a/sSQaihO) that no brand new mother had any business looking that good in. Those unworldly purple eyes stung her like a freezing wind in her face. Then came another sting, in the form of a palm to the cheek.

The slap knocked Cersei out of her trance. "So you're a tyrant _and_ a sexual predator.” She tried to sound detached, and impervious. “What a trailblazing feminist you are.”

“Better than a dead woman walking and a sexual trainwreck, wouldn’t you say?”

“You don’t know me, Daenerys.” It wasn’t the first time they’d met, though it was the first time it didn’t involve Daenerys writing a check.

She smiled. "Call me Dany. I'm trying not to let the whole ‘I'm not even thirty-five, and I'm the most powerful human being ever to live, and I’m just getting started' thing go to my head. And I believe you’ve met Quetzalcoatl?”

“ _Háu kola._ ”

“That’s Lakota, dipshit, that’s not even close!”

“Goddamnit. Um.... _Niltze tialli pialli._ ”

‘Dany’ pointed sternly. “You and me. Flashcards. Later.”

Quetzalcoatl grumbled in acquiescence.

She turned back to Cersei. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because you’re ill.”

“Well, yes,” she conceded, with a shit-eating grin, “but there’s more to it.”

“I pray for you.” That was utter bullshit, but forty years in Republican politics had made it practically a reflex.

Dany guffawed. “I believe in Texas it’s pronounced, ‘ah pray fer yeeeewwww.’ East Texas, at least. But you were never good at accents, were you? Go on. Pray, then.”

 _Shit._ All Cersei could remember was the Lord's Prayer, and that reminded her of an AA meeting, which Cersei wanted nothing to do with despite numerous suggestions from Jaime that it might do her some good. _Lancel prays,_ she remembered. He’d been insufferable since converting to Mormonism. _‘Heavenly Father, nonsense nonsense nonsense.’_ She decided to go with the nonsense. "Heavenly Father, save this woman from her own wickedness." _That sounds religious._ “Show her the--”

Dany stood and backhanded her. “New God, who dis?” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the headboard. Cersei regretted picking one with poles. The soldiers uncuffed her, each grabbed a wrist, lifted her up as Dany moved out of the way, and dragged her onto the mattress.

“You’re here because you’re the embodiment of an outdated system that’s done nothing but oppress my subjects and trap them in hopeless stagnation.”

Cersei scoffed. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

“That’s racist,” Quetzalcoatl warned, as he finished tying her wrist to the bedpost.

“It is,” Dany agreed. “Diversity training! _Now!_ ”

He poked Cersei in both eyes. “Don’t be racist!”

She screamed and reeled, tugging on her restraints. The pain passed quickly, but her eyes were still forced shut when she felt Dany’s soft hands running up her thighs.

"No!" On instinct, she tried to lock her knees together, but something kept them from closing. _That’s her head._ Cersei screamed again and forced her eyes open. Dany grinned and blew her a kiss. Cersei twisted, thrashed, and tried to get away. " _No!!_ ”

"Well, now I just want it more…" Dany grabbed her waist, pulled her closer, and teased Cersei's clit with her tongue.

 _No! You can’t!_ But she could. _Please don’t._ But she did. Dany sealed her mouth over Cersei's clit and began.

“No!”

Dany only laughed and kept going.

 _Oh, God._ Cersei clenched her fists and dug her nails into her palms. _Be brave. Don’t react. Don’t give her the satisfaction._ She’d always found bravery much easier when there were cameras around; preferably FOX News cameras. _Sean Hannity can’t save you now._ No one could. Not from her own mind; her own body. _Not from pleasure._

She ran out of room to squirm and convinced herself to succumb. Dany's tongue barely touched her clit, but it felt like she was consuming Cersei's entire body. She felt her toes curl and her face contort. Her hips followed every move her captor made, and nothing could convince them otherwise.

“Oh, God,” she hadn’t meant to say that aloud. “No.” Dany sped up. Cersei gasped. “ _Ohhhh, GOD…_ ”

No one had ever done it like this. She loved Jaime’s technique, but he’d honed it after years of teenage incompetence, and never strayed far from what he knew would work. The handful of others had always just fumbled around blindly, and Cersei never bothered correcting them. This woman was no teenager and fumbled nothing, correcting herself intuitively until she learned everything Jaime knew and then some, and taught Cersei more than she’d known about herself.

It happened so quickly. From nowhere, Cersei shuddered and screamed. Her body felt paralyzed, though she knew she was thrashing and bucking all over the place. She let out a loud, defeated grunt at the climax and fell back into the soft mattress, ashamed and disgusted and thoroughly satisfied. _That was so wrong._ Then again... _When have you ever gotten off to something that wasn’t?_

Grinning, Dany stood, cracked her back, and left without a word, snapping her fingers on the way out. Without warning, dark clouds gathered instantly in the windows. Lightning flashed. Thunder clapped. The room went black, then the sky itself. _What just happened?!_

Whatever it was, Quetzalcoatl seemed unconcerned. He fumbled around for the TV remote, stood by the bed, and popped on a _Curb Your Enthusiasm._ “You watch this show?”

“No.”

“You'd like it. It's pretty good.” He plunged a needle into her arm. She tried to scream, but her eyelids went heavy. “Pret-tay, pret-tay, pret-tay good.”

Cersei woke up with her arms in a straightjacket, slumped in the corner of a padded room. _Figures._ She laughed to herself. _They always said it would come to this._ She was foggy on the details but assumed her presidency was over and that whole business with Daenerys Targaryen and Quetzalcoatl was the hallucination that ended it. _You must have made such a scene._ That made her giggle even more.

A lock clicked open. Through the door across the room came Tyrion, carrying a plastic bucket. Without acknowledging her, he set it upside-down against the far wall, sat, and lit a cigarette.

“What are you doing here?!” Cersei barked. “Get out. _Get out! Now!_ You're the reason I'm here!" He ignored her and played around on his phone. _This isn’t helping my insanity._ The irony made her laugh to herself again, which turned to sporadic cackling.

“Be careful with this one,” said a voice in the hall. “She’s been dangerously erratic lately.” Daenerys entered, in scrubs, a white coat, and her crown. Following, for some reason, was the governor of California in a cheap Slutty Nurse costume, complete with white fishnets and absurd platform heels that wobbled on the padded floor. Last was Quetzalcoatl, also in a white coat, sliding in sideways to fit his massive feathered hat through the door. Resting on his shoulders was a boa constrictor.

Cersei screamed and twisted in her straightjacket. “Get him away from me, he scares me! Why does he have a snake?! And why is my brother here?!”

Dany turned to her assistants. "See?" She backed Cersei into a corner, pulled out a small flashlight, and examined her eyes with it. "And how are we today, Mrs. Lannister?"

Quetzalcoatl summarily dumped the boa constrictor into her lap. Cersei screamed again, jumped up, and tried to run for the door.

Dany tripped her with a kick to the shins, sending her face-first to the floor. “Come on, now. You have guests.”

The god of wind and learning took a drag from an e-cig. “I’m Dr. Van Nostrand. From the Clinic.”

“Why did you throw a snake at me?! Why is Margaery Tyrell dressed like a nurse?! She's the governor of--”

Dany corrected her with a foot to the gut. “Duchess, dear. Governors aren't a thing anymore.” She turned to Margaery. “As you can see, Mrs. Lannister is a classic paranoid schizophrenic. She thinks she used to be president, and that Dr. Van Nostrand is Quetzalcoatl, and threw a snake at her. Sad, really.”

“I knew he wasn't a bird god!” Cersei proclaimed like this were some Holmesian detective work.

Dany squatted over her face and spat. “He's both! Don't question his credentials!”

“You just said I made that up!”

“No, I didn’t. I said you made up your brother.”

“No, you didn’t! He's right over there! Laughing at me!” She could feel the snake crawling up her back.

Dany shook her head. “Your family wants nothing to do with you, Mrs. Lannister. Who do you think put you here?” She turned to Dr. Van Nostrand. “Have the orderlies bring in a table.”

Dr. Van Nostrand left, and two orderlies with machine guns wheeled a hospital gurney through the door. “The usual?” One of them asked.

“Mhm,” Dany replied, donning some latex gloves. The orderlies picked Cersei up and plopped her onto her stomach on the table, taking care not to disturb the snake from its lazy slither toward her neck. One of them yanked her pants off.

Margaery followed Dany to the rear of the table. From behind, she spread Cersei's knees apart and tied them to the guardrails on either side of the table, then slid a pillow beneath her, to keep her ass in the air. "What are we looking for, Doctor?"

“Poop,” Dany answered, as one of the orderlies spread Cersei’s ass open. “Gold. A prostate.” Cersei screamed and clenched her ass tight around the finger that slid inside. Dany seemed unbothered. “The Ark of the Covenant.” She spanked Cersei with the other hand. “Candy canes.” Again. “Her father.” Again, gripping flesh and shaking it. “More snakes.” Dany dug two fingernails into Cersei's flesh. For a moment, she thought they were fangs. “Gag her.”

A pair of panties went into her mouth. Freshly used, with semen in them. Cersei coughed and gagged and tried to spit them out until a soldier's duct tape sealed them in place.

“Hm.” Dany pushed her finger in deeper and wiggled it. Cersei moaned into her salty, lacy gag. “Lots of snakes up her ass today.” _She doesn't mean that. That’s impossible._

“What do you recommend?” Margaery asked.

“A hook, I’d say. Do you concur?”

The snake that Cersei was pretty sure was real, and not up her ass, began to coil itself around her neck.

“I do, Your Majesty,” answered Margaery.

Just as it was getting dangerously tight, an orderly pulled the snake off her neck, tossed it back between her shoulder blades, and replaced it with a leather collar. He reached beneath the table and procured an [anal hook](https://imgur.com/YerRP) with a loop at the end, and a metal pole about three feet long. Dany grabbed the hook, lubricated it, and popped it in. Cersei yelped and squirmed. _Cold, cold, cold!_ The orderly connected one end of the pole to the hook, and the other to her collar.

Dany moved back in front of Cersei. “Don’t fight, Mrs. Lannister. There's poison on that hook. You don't want that in your bloodstream, do you?”

 _Good point,_ Cersei decided, though she wasn't sure that was real, either. _If you knew how to tell what’s real, you wouldn’t be here._ She held as still as she could, breathing quick, shallow, terrified breaths through her nose.

Tyrion got up from his bucket, stood directly in front of her face, and put his cigarette out on her cheekbone. “You’re going to die, soon.”

Cersei squealed and kicked wildly, but all that did was push the hook in deeper. _No! The poison!_

Dany sighed and looked in Margaery’s direction. “She’s still hallucinating her brother Tyrion.” She turned to Cersei’s imaginary brother. “Get the spreader bar, Tyrion.”

"Gladly." Tyrion pulled another metal bar from beneath the table, with ankle cuffs on either end. Dany freed Cersei from the guardrail and locked her into the spreader one ankle at a time, then pushed it forward until Cersei's heels touched her ass. An orderly grabbed more rope and tied each ankle to the guardrail once again, to hold her in the position.

“Thank you, dear. And the paddle.” Tyrion handed Dany a small leather [paddle](https://imgur.com/a/YRPBc00), with which she promptly smacked Cersei in the cunt. “All the snakes and demons up your filthy ass have detached you from reality, Mrs. Lannister.” She hit her again with the paddle. “That makes you a very bad girl.” More smacks to the cunt, in rapid succession. “Do you hear me?!” Dany shouted over her own smacking. “A shameful, _nasty_ little girl!” She finally relented. “Your only hope is an hysterical paroxysm.”

Before the stinging stopped, two fingers slid into her from behind. _Not again, PLEASE, not again._ The pain, she could deal with; the pleasure was unadulterated torture. _Why do you have to make it feel good?_

"The key is to find the Grafenberg spot," Dany explained to the nurse, or the Duchess, or whatever Margaery was. She found it quickly. Too quickly. Cersei writhed, sighed, and closed her eyes. _No, no, no._  “There it is.” A thumb teased her clit, and she began to cry. _No, no, no, I don’t want it…_

Dany gave her another, more deliberate stroke.

Cersei realized she was wet. _It’s meaningless,_ she reminded herself. A doctor had told her that in a failed attempt to convince her that Jaime was actually raping her, even though it felt good.

Just as the rationalization took hold, she moaned. _That’s meaningless, too._ As she inhaled again, the taste of the panties filled her mouth. Dany and a man, presumably Jon Snow, mixed together. _More. Suck. Swallow it._ That came from nowhere, and most certainly meant something. _What, though?_

Tyrion lit another cigarette and blew the smoke in her face. "I normally try to talk her out of shit like this, but you deserve every second of it. You've had this coming for years. You were a cunt to me from the day I was born."

“He's not real, Mrs. Lannister,” Dany reminded her from behind. “He's in your mind. He's your own thoughts. He's what you really think of yourself.”

“Punish the cunt, Daddy!” Margaery chimed in.

“That's right, baby girl,” Dany answered. “Punish the cunt until it learns.”

Margaery purred. “I love you, Daddy.”

“That’s nice. Shut the fuck up while Daddy's working.” Dany pushed her fingers in as deep as she could, then pulled them out nice and slow. Cersei felt her own body pulling itself backward, fighting the restraints, missing the feeling, hoping the next stroke would be harder and deeper. _Fuck, don't do this._

She’d refused to believe what that doctor said about Jaime. _‘I love him,’_ she’d insisted. _‘It’s not rape.’_ But this was definitely rape, and her body seemed to crave it as badly as it had ever craved Jaime. _Maybe the doctor was right._ For all her ambition, Jaime was all she truly wanted. _What does that say about you? And what you like? And what you're good for?_

Something crumbled inside her. _All those lies you told yourself._ She felt lost; not sure what to believe, or resist, or succumb to. Not sure of the difference between pleasure and disgust; pain and karmic justice. _Start from scratch._

On instinct, she closed her eyes and sucked. LIke it was all she knew. Like she was back in the womb. _Alone, this time. Finally alone._ Even the snake was gone. The taste filled her mouth. _Conquerors._ _Better than me. I’m lucky they let me taste them._ She wanted more. _Suck, then. Bite._ _Squeeze it onto your tongue and leave it there._ Her other four senses escaped her, and everything vanished but the taste.

She was so lost that it wasn't until Dany pulled her fingers out entirely that Cersei realized how desperately she wanted them back inside. She backed up more and whimpered, but they were lost to her. _No. Please stay._ She sucked harder, desperate for anything that could make her feel closer to this woman, and broke down into a full-blown sob.

“Get the saw,” Dany commanded. Cersei’s eyes flew back open. _Saw?_ From beneath the table, an orderly pulled some kind of power tool with a rather nasty blade on it. Cersei gasped and struggled, but Dany simply scratched her behind the ears like a dog. “It’s alright, Mrs. Lannister. It’s for the paroxysms. You’re particularly ill today; you’ll need quite a few.”

The orderly popped off the blade and replaced it with a plastic [dildo](https://imgur.com/a/68SrCvc). He reached back down and retrieved a cordless, wand-shaped [back massager](https://imgur.com/ff3xr3h) that most people never put anywhere near their back. _Mmmm._ Cersei had become good friends with that massager, during those lonely nights on the campaign trail when she couldn't risk being seen in a hotel with Jaime at night.

Smiling, Dany took both implements from the orderly, squeezed a liberal helping of lube over the dildo and revved it up teasingly. _That saw is more of a jackhammer._ She rested the toys behind Cersei, on the table between her legs. “Relax, Mrs. Lannister.”

That was easier said than done. _You want it as much as you fear it._ Cersei breathed heavily but kept her whole body clenched.

Dany paddled her ass, hard. “I said, _relax,_ you deaf cunt!”

Cersei submitted. _You have no choice, but would it matter if you did?_

"WIth machines," Dany explained to Margaery, "you have to start slow." And she did start slow. And gentle. _Mmm._ Cersei backed up onto it, matching its rhythm. _Yes._ "Otherwise they’ll have their little seizures before they’ve had time to think about what they are.” _Yes._ “What they really care about.” _Yes._ “Their real purpose." _Yes!_

As the cock pumped away, the massager pressed softly against her clit. Cersei moaned into her gag and closed her eyes again. _This is my purpose._ It seemed so obvious now. Everything made sense. She wasn’t the president; that really was a hallucination, and a silly one at that. _But what was I before I went insane?_ She hadn’t the foggiest idea. _It doesn’t matter, you tired old whore. That’s her point. You shared that womb to be his fucktoy, and that’s all you’ve ever done to justify your existence._

“How do you feel, Mrs. Lannister?” Dany pressed the wand harder against her clit. “Shall we speed up?”

Cersei nodded and squeezed a ‘yes' into her next muffled moan. The cock sped up for a moment, then stopped, and went away entirely. Cersei laid there, her body shaking and her mind furious. _Don’t be. You don’t matter. Earn the cock back._ Clueless as to how to do that, she wiggled her ass in the air and babbled something that might have been a desperate plea for more.

“That's the second rule,” Dany went on. “Don’t give them what they want. And don’t tell them how to get it.” She gave Cersei another stinging, numbing backhand with the paddle. “ _Whores_ obey, isn’t that right?!”

Margaery answered first. “Punish that cunt, Your Majesty. Teach it what it is.”

Dany chuckled. “That’s what I’m doing.” She smacked Cersei between the legs and dragged her palm back and forth until it was good and wet. “See? Lick it, bitch.”

Margaery growled softly. “Tastes like washed up whore.”

 _What else would it taste like?_ With no warning, the cock went back inside, and the wand went straight to her clit. _Fuck, that’s good. I need it._

“Third rule. Don’t tell them it’s coming.” Dany cranked up the speed on both toys. “When a whore goes insane, she thinks people give a shit if she suffers.”

Dany pushed the cock in deeper and sped it up. Cersei wailed into the panties in her mouth, then clenched them between her teeth. _Don’t waste them. Suck._ The taste gave her some comfort, though her body still shook, and her breath still came fast and shallow.

“Look at her!” Dany had to raise her voice a bit. “All alone in this room, like a dog at the pound, waiting for me to drag her out and put her to sleep. Crying, quivering, moaning. That’s the demons inside her. Her brother’s been squirting them straight up her cunt for years, and her father’s planted them in her head. They’re fighting me. They’ve controlled her for so long, but she’s not theirs to control, is she?”

“No, Your Majesty. She’s yours.”

“Obviously.” The more Dany spoke, the faster the cock hammered away. Cersei could feel the pleasure building quickly. She rolled her eyes into the back of her head and sucked her Queen’s panties, like a good cunt. _More, more, more. Tastes so good, fuck, gimme more…_ Then it all stopped. Again.

 _Shit! The snake’s back!_ She suddenly noticed how tightly it squeezed around her neck. Panic flooded her mind, wiping away any pleasure. _This is it._ She was sure of it. _At least you’ll die at peace with yourself. At least you served your purpose._

Dany appeared from behind, still holding her cock-saw. “Should I save you?”

Cersei was too busy suffocating to answer.

Dany poked her in one eye with the cock. “I asked you a question!”

She gathered the wherewithal to nod furiously.

Dany sighed, walked behind her again, and put the cock back in. “Come for me, and we’ll see.” She turned it back on and ground the wand hard against her clit. Too hard. But the tighter the snake got, and the harder it became to breathe, the harder Cersei tried to bring herself to the edge. _Fake it._ "I'm not your dead husband,” Dany reminded her. “If you fake it, I'll know." She shook the cock back and forth and turned it all the way up. "Come on, you love getting choked when you fuck, that's the most obvious thing about you."

 _How does she know that?_ Either Dany was psychic, or Cersei was nothing more than a damaged, common whore who liked the same filthy shit as all the other damaged, common whores.

 _She’s not psychic._ Cersei felt more exposed than she’d ever felt. _It’s good to be exposed,_ she realized. _So good._ Which meant the rest felt good. The rape, the sodomy, the snake, the shame, and even the suffocation. _She’s right. Come for her._

Her hips thrust as much as the restraints would allow, and she felt herself clenching around the cock and the hook at once. She let out a scream, which vanished as the snake got too tight. _Fuck, that's good. Choke me, Your Majesty. Choke me so I can come nice and hard for you._ She felt herself get lightheaded.

Dany turned the wand all the way up and adjusted it, taking the pleasure went intense to blinding. “Hit her!” Somebody, presumably Margaery, beat her ass relentlessly with the paddle. “ _Come or die, cunt! See if I care!_ ”

 _You don’t, and you shouldn’t._ Cersei clenched her fists as the pleasure released itself; harder, longer, and more uncontrollable than from anything Jaime had ever done. Her entire body tingled. Every hair on her body stood straight up. Even the snake around her neck felt good. _Especially the snake._

Her vision went dim the instant her body gave way. Dany came back to the head of the table, with a meat cleaver, grabbed the head of the snake, and set it down inches in front of Cersei’s face. She brought the knife down like a guillotine blade, sending the head flying off the table. Cersei felt something wet on her thighs and knees. _You pissed yourself._ She lacked the faculties to care.

Dany ripped the duct tape from Cersei’s face and removed the panties, but otherwise ignored her and addressed Margaery. “Note the tears, the voided bladder, and the numbness in the genitalia.” She slapped Cersei with Tyrion’s paddle again. Cersei barely moved. “ _This_ is what a proper whore looks like.”

With the snake still hanging loosely around her neck, Dany picked up the meat cleaver and held the point just under her eye.

“I saved your life.” She gave Cersei a small cut on the cheekbone. Her eyes were cold, and some terrible storm raged behind them. “I killed this snake, and a thousand more inside you. Every day you live, you’re deeper in debt to me. Pray you don’t live long.” She turned back to Margaery. “Give her the cock until she cries, bleeds and passes out. If the battery dies first...I don’t know, waterboard her or something. Get creative.”

"Yes, Your Majesty." Margaery hesitated but caught Dany before she left. "I love you."

Dany laughed. “I don’t love you back, and I never will. You’re nothing but upjumped trailer trash, and you’ll never be nearly good enough for me. I got you hooked on my pussy for amusement, and if you’re smart, you’ll dread the day I tire of you. But you’ll obey me all the same, won’t you, dear?”

Margaery seemed thrilled that Dany even acknowledged her existence. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” She looked at Tyrion, jerked her head toward the door, and they left.

Margaery smiled at Cersei. "Remember when you told those Evangelicals that if my brother got AIDS, it was God's work?" Seeing no need for lube, she popped the cock back in, skipped the slow part, and did as commanded. Cersei gave out before the battery.

Once again, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and woke to an air horn in her ear. Startled, she jumped to her feet and stumbled straight into a wall. _Concrete. Standing on a grate. The circle room again._

Dany stood directly behind her, wearing soccer shorts, flip-flops, and a pink bikini top. " _Alright everybody, time for the next round, put your hands together for Cerseiiiiiiiiiii!!_ ” Her voice blared from the speakers as she shouted into a microphone, mimicking a strip club DJ. Another blast from the air horn. “Wooooooo!!”

Cersei heard an unusually large crowd clapping and cheering raucously behind her. Most of them sounded drunk.

Dany tossed the mic to a soldier, who bore a remarkable resemblance to the man on the surveillance footage of Jaime's abduction. The man threw back a cattle prod, with which she gestured Cersei toward the center of the room. "You're on," Dany growled. "Make me some fucking money." She whirled her around and fired the prod into her back, sending her face-first to the concrete floor, much to the crowd's delight.

Cersei tried to get up, determined not to embarrass herself, until she saw what awaited her. _Just stay on the floor and beg for mercy._

In the center of the room was a kiddie pool filled with what looked like jello. Her twin brother lounged in it, sipping a can of Bud Light and looking at her with a strange coldness she’d never seen in him before.

Outside the pool and across from him was their father, bound to his wheelchair by copious rope, with panties stuffed in his mouth and a plastic lawn chair next to him. For the first time since her mother died, Cersei saw tears in Tywin eyes, though he did his best to compensate with a fierce, angry glare at Dany. _Don’t bother,_ she wanted to tell him. _None of that works on her._

Suddenly feeling her nakedness, Cersei broke into a soft, exhausted sob. “Why… please… why...”

“Because it’s Tuesday.” Dany moved the prod to the back of her head. “ _Move!_ ”

Cersei crawled a few feet, then stood and walked to the edge of the pool, covering her tits from dozens of drunk men.

Jaime took a sip of beer. "Do you remember the last time I saw you?"

Cersei kept her eyes on him, too scared to look at anyone else. _You're mad at him,_ she remembered, but she couldn’t find the strength to show it. “I’m sorry,” she answered meekly.

He laughed.

Dany sat next to Tywin in the lawn chair, cross-legged, still holding her air horn and resting the cattle prod across her lap. “Your brother’s about to earn himself a knighthood.”

Only when Tywin fidgeted and tried to speak did Cersei remember that knighthood didn’t exist in America. Dany chuckled, put a hand up to hush the crowd, and yanked the panties from his mouth.

"You'll do no such thing!" Tywin's voice was barely louder than a whisper but impressive for his age. "Humiliating yourself won’t win you a knighthood. There _is_ no knighthood. It's all made up by a lunatic. She’ll be dead in a month; it's not _real!_ ”

Jaime stared him down. "It's more real than what you told _Forbes_ your net worth was.”

“Ohhhhhh, snap!” Dany teased. The crowd followed suit.

"And it's more real than anything you've ever done to thank me for the _lifetime_ of sacrifices I've made for this family.”

“ _Burn!_ ” Dany blew the air horn right next to Tywin’s ears. He winced and groaned in agony, which the crowd found hilarious. She shoved the panties back into his mouth and gestured for a soldier to tape it shut, then looked at each twin and smiled. “You know what else he doesn't think is real?”

Of course they did. Jaime finished his beer, crushed the can in his prosthetic hand, and tossed it over his shoulder. "We've been fucking since we were twelve." Tywin looked furious. Cersei was simply numb. The crowd went Full _Maury._ "Every chance we got. Never used a condom. Probably had what, ten abortions?"

Tywin’s eyes turned to Cersei, who had no choice but to nod. “It’s true.”

Dany clasped her hand over Tywin's. “Your daughter's vagina is a _clown car_ for your son's dead babies, and they’re about to prove it.” Dany pressed the cattle prod against Tywin’s temple and turned to Cersei. “If you have an ounce of love left for this man, get in that pool and _prove it!_ ”

 _Do I, though?_ The thought surprised and disturbed her, but she tabled the question and got on all fours in the pool. Jaime positioned himself behind her.

After silencing the crowd again, Dany looked at Jaime from the chair, opened her legs, and gestured slowly with her fist. “Stroke.”

Cersei felt the tip of his hardening cock graze her thigh. Dany’s eyes lit up as she watched. Cersei looked back at her brother. _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you._ It wasn't supposed to end like this. They were supposed to die together. To take their secret with them.

Legs crossed, Dany gave each of them the once-over. She paused, staring coldly and silently for at least thirty seconds before giving the command. "Fuck."

The soldiers cheered. Hard as she tried to take pleasure from it, if only to make it bearable, Cersei felt nothing but misery as Jaime lined himself up and entered. _Get it over with,_ she resolved. Clinging to dignity was pointless, anyway. _That’s long gone._ She broke into a sob, but backed herself up regardless, and took Jaime as deep as she could.

As he built his rhythm, Dany handed the prod to a soldier, dropped her shorts to all manner of hooting and whistling, and hopped into the pool. She sat across from Cersei with her legs spread and perfectly trimmed little cunt in full view, and raised an eyebrow. "It's not going to eat itself, dear."

Cersei tuned out the crowd, and that God-awful [_Space Jam_ song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyXGyxxw7dw) that had come over the speakers. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, searching desperately for the strength to pretend to be anywhere else. But it just wasn't there. She'd tasted pussy before; once or twice in college, and again during a bizarre fling while Jaime was in the Navy. But she'd never loved it, so she scooped some jello onto her tongue to offset it.

Dany either didn't notice or didn't care. She sighed, arched her back, opened her legs a bit more, and pulled Cersei's head closer. "That's it. Get all dykey for Daddy."

Cersei’s tongue stumbled upon Dany's clit, yielding a gasp and a sigh, and a tighter grip on her hair. By a reflex she didn't know she had, Cersei repeated the motion with her tongue, more deliberately than before.

Dany giggled, turned to Tywin, and shouted over the music. "She likes it! Does that make it better or worse for you?!" It was a good question, as Tywin Lannister had never been fond of ‘deviants.’ He growled through his gag, as Dany pushed Cersei’s head away and smiled down. “Who do you think is more ashamed right now? Him, watching his kids fuck each other? Or you, for admitting you failed him?”

“I don’t know,” Cersei blubbered, “I don’t--”

Dany yanked Cersei’s head back to her crotch. “All that grooming for power, and you’ll be remembered as nothing but the old order’s most spectacular failure. A whore. A charlatan. The natural product of democracy, and the reason it was doomed from the start. A vain, stupid, _weak_ little bitch who squandered every advantage of the most powerful civilization in history in all of two days.”

 _She’s right._ Cersei gasped suddenly, as Jaime pulled her back onto his cock. _To save me from the truth?_ But that was the old Jaime. This one was no savior. _He did it because he felt like it. Because you’re a set of holes to fuck. Nothing more._ His thrusts grew harder, and faster, to confirm her suspicion. _More truth._

“But that’s okay,” Dany assured her. “You can’t fight destiny.”

A surreal sense of freedom came over her. _You’ve lost everything. No lies left to protect._ That gave her a burst of energy, and like the last two rapes, it started to feel good. She gripped Dany’s thighs and bucked her hips, beckoning Jaime closer, begging him to wreck her cunt like the bargain basement slut she’d always been. _Demanding it._

Jaime sensed what she wanted, and gave it to her. _Spank it._ He did. Cersei moaned into Dany’s suddenly irresistible pussy and angled her ass upward. _Again. Harder._ She savored the cracking sound of his palm on her flesh but barely felt the pain. _It’s not your own pain you’re craving._ She looked straight into her father’s eyes. _I’ve always been like this. How does that make you feel?_

A thought bubbled up from the darkest parts of her mind. _Thank her._ Cersei had wanted for decades to see that wounded look in her father’s eyes. _We were always just trophies to you. You ruined us, to get high off your own smugness. She didn’t make me a subhuman whore. You did._

And that was precisely what she was. No human would say so many things she didn’t believe, just to fill the void in her soul she called ambition. No human would ask a pollster how long was an appropriate time to grieve a dead son. No human would hide who she loved for decades, and do such a terrible job of it.

But as badly as they'd wanted to punish their father, neither she nor Jaime had ever mustered the guts to do it. The burden of his expectations had been too heavy. But Daenerys took that away and gave them the strength. Her supporters called her their savior; their self-evident natural ruler; a higher form of life that only dangerous infidels would hesitate to serve. That had seemed so ridiculous, but not anymore. Cersei pressed her face closer, lifted Dany's thighs onto her shoulders, and served.

Dany moaned louder and bucked her hips in Cersei’s face. “That’s it,” she growled, “ _MORE,_ you dried-up fuckhole.”

 _Thank you, Your Majesty._ It no longer sounded the least bit wrong.

Soldiers started throwing money into the pool. Singles floated lazily from above. Some just pelted her with quarters. Cersei looked up to find Dany craning her head back toward a man kneeling behind her, shaking her tits and snatching a hundred dollar bill with her teeth _With her face on it,_ Cersei noticed. _Not Franklin’s_. Dany coated it with melted jello and stuck it onto Cersei's forehead with a firm smack. She led the crowd in laughter, then put her servant back to work.

Jaime grunted, putting his real hand on her hip and the fake one on the small of her back. _He’s close._ That was his giveaway.

Dany froze, and the rest of the room with her. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

The music stopped. The crowd went silent. Jaime didn't fucking dare.

“Who comes first?!”

“You do,” he answered. _Seems so obvious, now._

“Tell your sister to finish me. _Now._ ”

 _No need._ Cersei went back to work, but Jaime pulled out.

“I didn’t say stop,” Dany barked. “I said tell your cunt sister to hurry the fuck up!”

Jaime resumed his thrusting, deep but slow. “Hurry up.”

“Fuck that! Tell her so she’ll listen!”

 _I’m listening, Your Majesty._ Jaime slapped her on the ass and threw his weight into his next thrust. “Hurry up!”

 _Mmm._ Cersei had always been a sucker for a good spanking. She flashed Tywin a split-second look. _I am a good girl, just not for you._

Dany screamed with lust. “More! _Hurt that bitch!_ ” _Yes. Please. Hurt this bitch._ “Make me _fucking_ come!”

Cersei wiggled her ass to invite another slap, and received it, burying her face deeper, stroking Dany’s clit with her tongue, following it as her hips bucked up and down, pressing her lips around it and sucking, circling around and flicking it with the tip.

“Fuck. Yes…” Dany started to pant. _It’s good? More? Please say yes._ “More…”

_Yes, Your Majesty._

Dany shouted back at Jaime again. “Rub her clit!”

Jaime's prosthetic fingers dug hard into Cersei's ass and pulled her back as he reached around to tease her clit.

 _Yes, yes, yes._ Cersei moaned into Dany’s pussy and licked faster. _Make her come._ She could sense this was no longer about survival. _You want this,_ she realized. _You want to see it. Hear it. Feel it. Taste it._

Dany’s legs suddenly flew around Cersei’s head and crushed it between them. Her screams lost the pretense of unshakable control that underpinned everything Daenerys Targaryen did. _She really is human beneath._ Cersei felt a sudden, strange affection, which quickly melted into sheer lust when Dany's clit began to throb.

“Oh, God, fuck!” She squirmed and twisted, then thrust her pussy right into Cersei’s face and released, screaming almost in pain.

Cersei held Her Majesty’s thighs in place and rode the wave. Dany’s body clenched, seizing its prey as tight and ruthlessly as she’d seized power itself. _Serve her. Finish her._

When she did, and Dany finally relaxed her grip, Cersei found herself at the top of her own cresting wave. With his master satisfied, Jaime took his hand off her clit and returned to his merciless drilling. Cersei screamed, threw a hand between her legs to replace Jaime’s, and dug her nails into Dany’s inner thigh with the other.

Dany seemed not to care, for which Cersei was grateful, as she couldn’t have stopped herself anyway.

“Do it,” she commanded, still catching her breath. “Both of you. _And somebody hold his fucking eyes open!_ ”

His body smacked against hers, sending ripples through her flesh. From the corner of her eye, Cersei noticed a soldier holding her father’s head from behind and prying his eyelids open. _Oh, fuck, yes._

Her mind awash in some amalgam of lust and spite, Cersei threw her body back against her brother’s, moaning, arching her back, rolling her eyes into the back of her head. Her fingers worked her clit as she pushed herself closer, growling between screams, hoping her father caught it all, and that the scene would utterly ruin his life. _Long overdue._

Jaime abandoned self-restraint and fucked furiously, then burst inside her, which brought Cersei to her peak as well. She screamed and scratched Dany's thigh, earning another faceful of pussy as her brother's seed flooded her. At her peak, with her senses all craving more of everything, Cersei inhaled Dany's scent and devoured her once again.

“Mmm, you like that?!” _I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t matter._

Cersei nodded, let out a loud, screaming growl, and sucked Dany's clit, lapping up as much of her taste as she could, until her body gave out. Her brother slowly pulled out of her.

Dany stood, pushed Jaime out of the way, knelt behind Cersei, scooped out Jaime's load with her tongue, and hocked it right in their father’s face. "I'll just leave that there." She turned to the crowd. “Should I knight him?!”

They roared their approval.

“Alright.” She waved him over. “Come here.” As Cersei collapsed onto her back in the pool, Jaime knelt at Dany’s feet. Dany tapped him once on each shoulder. “Boop. Boop. You’re a knight. Now everybody fuck off! Show’s over!”

The little gay guy from the surveillance video corralled them all through one door. “Out, bitches!” All but a handful filed out.

Dany turned to the man once they’d left. “Slaughter everyone who witnessed that, blame it on some other people we’ve been meaning to slaughter, and slaughter them, too.” The man nodded. Dany turned to Jaime. “You fuck off too, dear.”

Jaime stood, let a soldier hose the Jell-O off of him, then put on a bathrobe and fucked off without a word to his sister. She helped Cersei out of the pool and had the same soldier clean her off as well. The bathrobe was the most comfortable she’d been since the start of her captivity. _Is this a reward?_ Cersei hoped so. The soldier cleaned Dany off last, though they gave her a loofah and some proper soap, and used a gentler stream, more fit for a human and less for a car in a driveway. Once clean, she smiled at Tywin, then looked at another soldier and nodded.

As Cersei watched, the soldier dragged a large bucket toward her father, cut the ropes that bound him to his wheelchair, and dumped him into the pool. He lifted the bucket with considerable difficulty, then tipped it and poured some thick amber liquid on him as he lay in the pool in the fetal position, too old and weak to fight back. _Is that honey?_

From the ceiling came a harness, suspended by two metal cables. The soldier lifted Tywin from the pool, strapped him in, and hoisted him about ten feet into the air, covered in honey and doing his best to hide his crying.

Two more soldiers came in, dressed in what looked like hazmat suits, with a pallet of wooden boxes. Her eyes widened as they got closer. _Those aren’t hazmat suits._ Without bothering to explain herself, Cersei sprinted as far away as she could. _Shit. Shit. No!_

Dany joined her, at a more leisurely pace. “Oh, relax,” she teased. “I'm killing your _father_ with bees, not you!”

“I can’t watch! Please, Your Majesty. _Please_ don’t make me watch!” Hate him or not, he was a human being, and death by bees had been a recurring nightmare since Cersei was a child. _Jaime told her that,_ she suspected.

Dany smiled. “Do I strike you as the type to _not_ make you watch?”

The soldiers removed the lids removed the lids from the boxes. Bees sprung from their hives like a geyser and made straight for him. Tywin screamed through his gag and swung back and forth with a vigor that Cersei hadn't seen in years, but stopped when his body disappeared beneath the swarm. And somehow it didn't both her at all. _The bees weren’t the recurring nightmare. He was._ She looked at Dany as the bees flooded her father’s body with venom. _Thank you for making me watch._

As the stragglers flew aimlessly around the room, Dany headed briskly for the nearest door, waved Cersei along, and hurried inside. The room they entered was cold, small, and spartan, but brighter than the main circular room. In the center was a small metal cot with handcuffs on the headboard, and a straw mattress. _Better than the floor, I suppose._ In each corner, from floor to ceiling, were columns of what looked like hot tub jets built into the wall. In the wall behind the headboard were two much larger nozzles. Next to them, built flush into the wall and covered by a small Pyrex glass door, was a thermostat panel.

Dany slammed the door, turned around, and dropped her bathrobe. “Sorry for the hasty retreat. I’m allergic.”

Cersei had no idea how to respond, so she stood there like an idiot.

“I’m also convinced my thighs are fat. Look at you, learning my weaknesses!” Her eyes turned cold. “Now lose the robe.”

Still in a daze, Cersei dropped it around her ankles.

Dany pointed to the bed. “Cuff yourself.”

Not _that_ dazed, she hesitated.

All Dany did was cock her head. It was all she needed. With reservations still lingering, Cersei closed a cuff tight around one wrist. The bed was small enough that Cersei could reach the other cuff. It took her a minute, but she finally managed with one hand to jiggle it closed.

“That’s my good girl.”

Dany opened the glass over the thermostat and began an elaborate tapping sequence, then tapped some more on her Apple Watch, then again on the panel. When she finished, blue flames shot from the small jets in the corners. Dany walked over to inspect, held her hand over them for an oddly long time, then knelt beside the bed and pulled out a small metal box.

Inside was some kind of strap-on that held in place by a base she inserted inside her, in lieu of straps. Near the base was a button, which--judging by her reaction when she pressed it--made it vibrate.

“Fuck, I’ve missed that,” she declared, mostly to herself, before turning to Cersei. “What do you say, darling? One last rape?”

 _Last?_ There was only one thing that could mean, but Cersei couldn’t believe she’d do that. _Of course she would._ _Maybe that’s what the flame is for._ But they were small flames, and far away. _Carbon monoxide?_ But she’d die, too. _Murder-suicide?_ For a woman who projected such a ruthless image, carbon monoxide was a cowardly way to go.

Dany looked at her impatiently. “I asked you a question.”

 _Shit. Don’t make her mad._ “Please, Your Majesty.”

She came back and slid between Cersei's legs. Without thinking about it, Cersei wrapped her legs around Dany's waist and pulled her closer. _What are you doing, she’s about to kill you!_ But maybe that wasn’t so bad. _‘Every day you live, you’re deeper in debt to me. Pray you don’t live long.’_ That was probably sincere advice.

Dany smiled warmly as she aligned herself, lubed up with some spit, and pressed inside, stroking Cersei’s cheek with the back of her fingertips and setting a slow, gentle rhythm. “Good answer.”

For a minute, Cersei forgot it was a woman on top of her. Dany had clearly mastered the art of the cock thrust. The only giveaway was that men don’t vibrate. _It’s not a woman,_ she corrected herself. _It’s a monster._ But she wanted the monster. _That monster freed you from your father. And she vibrates._ She wrapped her legs tighter, rolled her hips to take her in deeper, and whispered earnestly. “ _Fuck me._ ”

Dany growled softly, leaned down, and kissed her. _Yes. More._ Cersei struggled against the handcuffs, not to get away, but to pull the monster closer; to hold her face, and feel her silver hair. She couldn’t, of course, which only made her want it more.

After just enough slow, deep kissing to make Cersei forget her own name, Dany broke off and looked down into her eyes. “Look at me, dear.” _Where else would I look?_ “You were never going to win this. You know that, right?”

 _Win what?_ Truth and nightmares mixed together like sugar and salt in the same jar. Her nipples found themselves being tugged and pinched between Dany’s fingernails. She moaned a high-pitched, scared, remorseful moan.

“Answer me.”

Cersei nodded, clenching her fists to distract from the pain. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” Dany quickened her pace just slightly. “Do you know _why,_ though?”

Cersei felt herself getting lightheaded. _Carbon monoxide. Definitely._ She looked back into Dany’s eyes, to find a glare that almost overcame her instinct to fight for her own survival. _Answer the question._ She shook her head, too scared and confused to speak.

"No, of course not," Dany grunted as her thrusts grew harder. "You don't understand. No one does." She sounded almost despondent, like a teenager stewing over a breakup.

Before Cersei could wonder why, a drop of her sweat trickled from the bridge of her nose into her eye, knocking her out of the trance. _Hot in here. Way too hot._

Two hands wrapped tight around her throat. "Look at me when I'm talking to you. Look into my eyes and _listen._ ”

Cersei opened her eyes as quickly as she could, and found Dany gritting her teeth and squeezing harder. She tried to apologize but couldn’t get the words out.

“Do you want to know _why?_ ” Dany released her throat and slapped her again, then sped up and let loose a round of hard, deep, punishing thrusts.

 _I suppose I should know before I die._ She nodded, with tears in her eyes and a pit in her stomach. _When are we going to pass out from the fumes?_

Dany was panting. _But not sweating. How?_ “Beg, then.”

 _I guess we’ve got a few minutes._ Or maybe they had forever. _For all you know, you're already dead._ “Please, Your Majesty. Please tell me. I want to know.”

“More. And don't take your eyes off my _fucking_ face!”

“Please!” She was finding it hard to breathe. _Maybe this is it. Maybe I'll never know._ She couldn't tell if that was good or bad. “Please, Your Majesty, _please,_ tell me.” _That war was real. This is real, too. All of it was real._ She tugged at the cuffs again, this time out of terror.

Dany sensed that and fed off of it. She covered Cersei's mouth with one hand and pinched her nose closed with the other. It took everything Cersei had not to fight. _You'll only make it worse. She won't let you die in your sleep. She'll hurt you. Don't give her a reason not to show mercy._ Dany’s pleasure was clearly starting to distract her. “ _This_ is why.”

She leaned back until she was upright, then tapped her watch. Cersei heard a _whoosh_ and felt an intense heat over her head. Long orange flames shot from the large nozzles in the wall behind the bed. _She just had a kid, and she’s killing herself?!_

But she wasn’t killing herself. The flames hit her right in the chest, but all Dany did was squeeze her own breasts. Her plastic watch band turned to liquid, and the watch itself fell to the floor. _Jesus,_ Cersei thought. _Jesus!_ She meant it not as a curse, but an urgent, genuine prayer for salvation.

Jesus was nowhere to be found. Flames consumed the straps of Dany’s bikini top and spread to the rest of it. She let them flow over her hands, then took them away and leaned back down, letting the fabric burn away to reveal two perfect tits bouncing rhythmically as she pounded away at Cersei’s cunt. “ _Now_ do you get it?! _Now_ , do you get why I'm _fucking_ crazy?!”

 _The mattress._ Cersei pulled her body toward the head of the bed, as flames from Dany's top ignited the bedsheets. For a moment, Dany was no longer inside her.

That enraged her. She roared some horrible, twisted sound and pounced, tossing Cersei's legs over her shoulders and gripping them tightly to hold them there.

“ _God,_ I wish I could get you pregnant. Give you one last kid and _kill it_ with you.”

Before the conquest, that would have unleashed a ferocious hatred, but Cersei had neither the time nor the strength for it. All she could do was press her body as hard as she could against the headboard, to buy herself a few more seconds.

It was a losing investment. Dany screamed like only a woman in the throes of ecstasy could scream. Cersei simply screamed. There was nothing else to do; not even resign herself to her own death. Screams were all her body could allow, from the unfathomable pain and terror. Inch by inch, the skin of her back went numb, only for the pain to spread up her sides, and to her shoulders. She could feel her skin bubbling until her mind forbade itself from feeling it.

“Fuck. _YES!_ ” She covered Cersei’s mouth again. “I’m gonna melt your fucking skin off, and I’m gonna come so hard when I do it. So _FUCKING HARD!!_ _Do you GET it now?!_ ”

Cersei fell into her eyes again. _It was there all along. How could I not see?_

Dany fucked her harder than she'd ever been fucked and knocked the wind out of her. She tried to gasp again but coughed instead. Something thick and heavy came out. _Blood? Smoke?_ She couldn’t tell. Her body tried for one more breath, but this time got nothing. _No more air. Go to sleep._

Screaming, heaving, and fucking with a demonic recklessness, Dany looked down, eyes burning as fiercely as everything else. Eyelids heavy, vision dim, and her skin itself boiling away, Cersei looked one last time into her murderer’s eyes, thanked her silently for all she’d done, and bid Her Majesty goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anybody actually click the links in these chapters? If not, I'll stop.


	13. Jon IV

Jon waited for a hostess to seat him, as the sign politely requested. He wore a windbreaker, a Minnesota Twins cap, jeans, and bright white sneakers. _I don’t even remember buying the Dad Uniform._

A cute young waitress finally bounced up to him and gestured toward the bar. “Welcome to Dave & Buster’s! Would you like to sit at the bar?”

“I’ve got some friends coming. Can I get a booth?” It was early in the evening, and plenty were open, despite the army of plainclothes guards scattered about, all holding beers but not drinking.

“Sure!” _The Midwestern niceness is strong in this one._ “Follow me!”

Jon followed, slid into the center of a large corner booth, and ordered a Sam Adams. Treasonous namesake aside, it befitted the style of monarch he wanted to be; a step above the Miller Lites of the world, but domestic and not pretentious. _And it tastes good._

The waitress cocked her head and looked at him. “Can I see your ID, sir?”

 _Shit._ Jon couldn’t remember the last time he’d even seen his driver’s license, much less been asked to produce it. He did, however, have an absurd sum of cash on him. ”Um,” he cleared his throat and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

The waitress frowned at what she probably interpreted as a bribe. “Sir, it’s our policy not to--”

“Look at the bill.” He took off his baseball cap to avoid confusion.

The waitress looked at the bill, then back at Jon, then back to the face on the bill. Then it clicked. She squealed into her hands and jumped back a step. “Shit! Fuck! _GARY!!_ ”

Gary, Jon assumed, was the manager. He further assumed that like most bar managers, Gary had a plan for this. About once a week for the six months since his accession, Jon had taken to showing up unannounced at random bars across America. This week, it was the Dave & Buster’s in Maple Grove, Minnesota, near his hometown.

It was such a regular phenomenon that bars were now trying to lure him with social media gimmicks and ‘Royal’ specials, most of which consisted of everything on the menu, dumped into a fryer. He always thanked them, of course, with the humility that Tyrion had described as ‘the Crown’s greatest weapon,’ and Dany had described as its sexiest. After enduring a polite amount of Fried Whatever, Jon would have his guards line up anyone who wanted to speak to him, and just listen; part therapist, part mall Santa, part Customer Service Rep. The bars he chose, of course, weren’t truly random or the product of his own whims. A change in agricultural policy meant a trip to Des Moines; manufacturing to Detroit; steel exports to Pittsburgh; fisheries to Seattle; pensions to Boca Raton. But Minnesota was a specific choice on Jon’s part.

He put a finger over his lips and motioned for the waitress to calm down. “It’s alright. Listen, I’ve got some friends and family coming. Can I have a few minutes with them before we get Gary involved?”

The poor girl looked terrified. “Family?!”

He laughed knowingly. “Just my sisters.”

To her credit, while Daenerys considered herself a great friend of the commoners, she also knew that most commoners wouldn’t want to have a beer with someone who referred to them unironically as commoners. She could pour on the charm when needed, but two hours holding court next to a bust of her likeness in mashed potatoes was a heavy lift. Dany confined her impromptu visits to the elite Northeastern circles with whom she shared a cultural affinity, and the truly marginalized--immigrant communities, housing projects, homeless gay teens disowned by their families--all of whom were shocked to find such an absurdly rich, blue-blooded white lady so eager and unafraid to spend hours on end with them, and to hear her confirm their long-held suspicion that the previous system was stacked against them and long overdue for obliteration.

Jon, on the other hand, was in charge of blue-collar white men, who were less enchanted with his self-described ‘menstruating cunt’ of a wife. And thus, the revolution that was supposed to put an end to two centuries of leaders fellating the masses had left Jon doing just as much retail politics as he’d done as a presidential candidate. The bar outings helped the masses relate to their monarchs, the very concept of which they’d been taught to fear and despise since childhood, and gave the Crown a chance to do real, tangible good, one subject at a time.

Were Dany not so obsessed with keeping her breast milk free of toxins, Jon would swear she was on some sort of amphetamine. Described in the foreign press as ‘Teddy Roosevelt in heels,’ the woman was up at four most mornings and awake until midnight at least, with the twenty hours in between packed with sweeping overhauls of everything she could get her hands on, ‘baby time,’ and, of course, copious extracurriculars.

Her strategy, precisely as she’d done to Jon and countless other victims, was to consolidate her power over America by scrambling its fundamental understanding of reality. Criminal juries were summarily abolished, replaced by panels of experts reviewing anonymized evidence that concealed the defendant’s race, sexual history, and other prejudicial traits unless absolutely necessary. Labor unions were outlawed, but the policies they’d sought for decades had been written into the law by decree. Militias were disarmed and disbanded, but Her Majesty deputized thousands to hunt down criminals and dissidents for ungodly bounties.

The coalitions that had made up the Democratic and Republican Parties, which had been more or less unchanged for the better part of a century, shattered in disagreement over who was supposed to hate what, and why. And with nothing to hate, some of them were slowly falling in love. _Some of them. Slowly._

But Dany’s presence at the bar would have defeated the other purpose of these trips; to prove that Jon wasn’t her pussy-whipped lapdog, as some had suggested. If she weresuch a control freak, why would she let him drink wherever, whenever, and with whomever he wanted? Jon adjusted the piano wire she'd tied around his thighs, balls, and waist in an elaborate series of knots and soldered to his metal cock cage, having grown bored with the standard padlock.

 _That’s why._ Though the more shit like that she did, the more Jon became convinced it wasn’t puresimple sadism or megalomania. She had that in spades and always would, but in the end, it was all about refusing to let him go. _And if she won’t let me go, she must love me._ It was a fucked up love, but Dany was a fucked up person. That’s what made her who she was; a genius, a leader for the ages, a phenomenal mother, and probably a serial killer. _Nobody’s perfect._ She’d given her country hope at a genuinely better future for the first time in the better part of a century. _Deal with the wire._

Jon put his hat back on as the waitress brought him his beer, and Gary’s Royal Pile of mozzarella sticks, whether he wanted it or not. Like a shark sensing mozzarella sticks in the water, Samwell Tarly blew through the front door and slid into the booth, helping himself to a stick and frowning as the cheese failed to ooze out in a perfect string.

“They rushed it,” he groaned. “Can you tell them if they’re going to do this for you, they should do it right?” He finished the stick anyway and lectured with his mouth full. “Thirty seconds in the fryer. A minute if they’re frozen. They write it on the bag; it’s not that hard.” _Nice to see you, too._

Next in the door was Tormund Giantsbane, another old Army buddy who ordered a Jager bomb chased with a strawberry watermelon margarita with neon green salt on the rim, because he didn’t give a fuck what you cunts thought about it.

“Where’s your wife?” He punched Jon in the shoulder. “Shoving a cat up a cock?”

Jon gave him a dirty look. _Bitch, she might be._

An Alaskan, and by definition a staunch libertarian, Tormund was no fan of Daenerys. But he did love his friend, and his cat-free urethra, so he graced Jon with a trip to Washington and an oath of fealty, whatever that was worth. To reward him for not signing his own death warrant, Jon asked Dany to make him Duke of Alaska, in place of its former governor, who had refused to bend the knee and left the room in a dustbuster. Tormund worked an oil rig by trade, had no experience governing anything, and didn’t want any. But Dany preferred apathetic nobles to ambitious ones, so she agreed. Tormund did as well, because ‘Duke of Alaska’ sounded badass.

“I guess you’d call that a _cat_ -theder,” Sam grinned like an idiot. _You’re real proud of that, aren’t you?_

HIs sisters entered next. Sansa’s face carried an anticipation like she were about to be proposed to, and in a way, she was. If any of Ned Stark’s kids had any business running anything, it was Sansa. Jon would have asked her to move to Washington sooner, but Dany had been at Peak Dany for the first few months after seizing power, and Sansa didn’t need to see that. Sansa, herself at Peak Sansa, cut a mozzarella stick with a knife and fork, and smiled politely at the others. Arya snatched half, asking neither permission nor forgiveness.

Last to the table was Edd Tollett, a guy he knew. “Are you done with the part where you talk to people?”

Jon shook his head. “Haven’t even started.”

His ass having barely touched the seat, Edd sighed deeply and stood. “I’ll be home, jerking off. Snapchat me.” He turned around and marched toward the door. “And if you want me to move to D.C. and work for you, fine.” And with that, he was gone.

Tormund ran his finger around the rim of his margarita glass and tasted some of his glow-in-the-dark salt. “Is that why we’re here, boy?”

Jon scanned the table. Everyonehad the same question. _I was hoping we’d make a dent in these fucking mozzarella sticks before we got down to business._ “Yes.”

“Have you told Daenerys about this?” Asked Sansa. _Smart._

“Yes.” That was true, and she’d received it surprisingly well, in fact.

Tormund took another sip of his margarita, daintily through his tiny straw. “Advise you on _what?_ ”

“How to stay normal,” Jon replied to the man in Timberlands, cargo shorts, and an orange camo [hunting vest](https://imgur.com/a/IN32J38) over his bare chest, like the lovechild of Guy Fieri and the Incredible Hulk. “It’s easy to get detached from reality in my position.” That was true, but it wasn’t himself he was worried about. Whether she’d admit it or not, Dany knew she needed him to keep at least one foot in reality. The real reality, not the one she’d fucked into his brain. He looked at Sam and Sansa. “And some of you actually know what you’re doing.”

Sam swallowed and cleared his throat. “Can I run this by Gilly first?”

“Will she say no?”

“Maybe.”

“Then no.” _I’m still your friend, but I’m your sovereign first. And Gilly’s._

“What about the band?” Arya managed a death metal band called Morghulis, which she’d discovered in Bratislava. They were actually pretty good, and a better fit for Arya than her previous gig at Starbucks, where she was fired after two weeks for arguing with an old man and licking his cheese danish. “They’ve got a six-month tour coming up.” _So basically, they’re homeless._

“I’ve got fifty years of running a country coming up.”

Arya sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it. _If_ you buy me out of my lease and take your fucking dog to the White House with you like you were supposed to do six months ago.”

“How much is the lease?”

“Three grand.”

Tormund laughed. “Your sister-in-law sharts three grand after a bad burrito.”

Fortunately for Jon, she’d sharted plenty more than that into his jacket pocket, and he sharted it into Arya’s. Sansa asked about her policy portfolio, which Jon had to admit was Her Majesty’s prerogative. She didn’t like that answer but agreed nonetheless. The next day, after the grip-and-grins with the commoners and finally getting around to picking up Ghost, Jon boarded what used to be Air Force One and returned to Connecticut.

He arrived in the evening, and found his wife in Alysanne’s room, wearing a tightly-tied robe and bouncing the baby in her arms near the crib to put her to sleep.

She smiled at him warmly, but said nothing, and continued her lullaby. _Only Daenerys could turn_[ Sleep Now in the Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ITF4HoRZRY) _into a lullaby._

“I am the Niña, the Pinta, the Santa Maria.” She sang soft and sweet, and rolled her r’s appropriately.

Jon walked over, kissed her, and enjoyed the serenade.

“The noose and the rapist, the fields' overseer. The agent of orange, the priest of Hiroshima…”

Fatherhood had done strange things to Jon. He’d always known he’d be susceptible to treating a daughter like a princess, but the operative word had always been ‘like.’ A fairytale princess, with a plastic tiara and more Barbie dolls than she needed. Not a real one, in an actual line of succession to real power. _And not with a mother like her._

“The cost of my desire…” She booped Alysanne on the nose. “Sleep now in the fire!”

Though what he meant by ‘a mother like her’ was still unclear sometimes. Jon couldn’t tell if it was the baby or the unfathomable power, but something had changed in Daenerys in the past six months. The monster in her was still alive and well, but it seemed less hungry than it had been the first time he’d witnessed it. Jon wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. _What if she gets bored of torturing me?_

He was reasonably sure she wouldn’t kill him, but neither Jon nor anyone else, save for Alysanne, could be a hundred percent certain. Sansa had hinted that she’d be willing to help him smuggle the baby away if Dany proved an unfit mother, but so far, she’d proven anything but.

Her love and adoration for her daughter were as strong as her hate for her enemies and her lust for control over everything around her; stronger, even, than her cravings for the many terrible things she so frequently craved. When she woke in the morning, when she went to bed at night, and at every chance she got in between, Dany would cradle Alysanne in her arms, or play with her in the crib, or merely watch every move she made, looking for signs of nascent brilliance or the slightest discomfort. She’d taken to feeding, bathing, and changing the girl herself when she could, and insisted that Jon do the same. For a woman who could easily find people to wipe her own ass--paid or otherwise--it was admirable.

Once the baby was tucked in Dany took his hand and led him toward the master bedroom.

“How was Minnesota?” She asked, smiling.

“Good,” Jon answered, “they all agreed to serve.”

She nodded as if that cleared some beheadings off her calendar. “I hear you brought your terrifying, overly friendly dog home.” Her family’s property was too big to blame her for not meeting him yet.

“He's making friends with your terrifying, underly friendly dogs.” Jon paused as they reached the bedroom until the doorclosed. “They’re still skeptical of you in the Midwest. They think--”

“I'm aware of what they think.” Dany dropped her robe. “Now shut the fuck up, darling.”

 _But--never mind._ He would have shut the fuck up whether she’d told him to or not. Beneath the robe was the most gorgeously whorish [ lingerie](https://imgur.com/a/8K63W0E); little more than a patch of black mesh and purple fabric held together by some flimsy straps that also served as the only things covering her nipples. He took it in, blushed like an idiot, and looked up. Expensive, no doubt, but it seemed to be missing a piece.

“Is that crotchless?” _Of course, it’s crotchless, that’s why her snatch is out._ Nonetheless, he stared like he’d never seen it before.

“It’s not trashy,” Dany teased, “it’s utilitarian!” She snapped her fingers and pointed toward the bed. “Lay down, boy. Hands at your side.”

Jon obeyed, of course, though it wasn’t the usual command. Usually, she had him stretch out so she could tie him down and begin what she affectionately referred to in her home as ‘Greenwich Mean Time.’

Dany walked over, straddled him, calmly shoved her hands under his shirt collar, and ripped it open.

“This is a six thousand dollar suit!” That was still a lot of money, as far as Jon was concerned. He suspected he’d never fully appreciate how rich he was.

Dany laughed. “Oh, like the girl in the crotchless lingerie cares about your six thousand dollar suit. Come on!” _Someone’s been binging_[ Arrested Development](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81Nl7VYFEaI) _again._ She rubbed her wet, pantiless cunt on his leg to remind him why he shouldn’t. _Mmm. Warm._ It worked. With the shirt buttons out of the picture, Dany reached over, retrieved her trusty [pruning saw](https://imgur.com/e7f5UR7) from the nightstand, and cut down from the waist of his pants, until his lingerie was crotchless, too.

On reflex, Jon moved his hands ever so slightly away from his body. Before he knew it, the blade of the saw was hovering over his balls, just below the cock cage. He looked up at her. _I shouldn’t have moved my hands._

Dany squeezed. “Are you in one of your ‘move without Her Majesty’s permission’ moods?”

Jon shook his head and put his hands back where they were. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” She smiled and took the saw away, cutting the metal cables that held his cage in place, jiggling it loose and tossing it over her shoulder with the wire itself and laying the saw next to him on the mattress.

With the obstructions out of the way, Dany leaned forward, grabbed his hair with one hand and his neck with the other, and whispered into his ear. “You’ll get this cock nice and hard for me. She nipped at his ear. “That’s not a command, that’s a fact.” She rolled her hips against his leg again, spreading the warmth and wetness, marking him once again. “I won’t even have to touch it. Because you’re scared of me. All this time. No ropes. No weapons. And you're still terrified of what I’d do to you if you’re not ready to fuck on command. And you should be. And you love that.” She twisted his hair and hissed. “ _Right?!_ ”

He nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty,” and like Moses parting the Nile, Jon’s blood redirected itself downward.

Releasing his hair and neck, and giving him one more nip to the face, Dany slid down between his legs and helped his cock along with a long drag of the tip of her tongue up his a shaft. “Move those hands, and I’ll lock you right back up,” she whispered softly, kissing where her tongue had been.

 _Please, just tie me down._ Unable to stop himself, Jon gripped the sheets, realized that counted as moving, then quickly flattened his palms.

She caught him, stopped, and gave him one of her ‘I’ve got you now’ smiles, but only laughed to herself and resumed. “I’m just teasing, my love. I’m in a good mood. In fact, how about I just suck your cock, without all the mind games? How about I just give you whatever you want?”

Saying Dany had ‘mellowed out’ was like saying the sun had gone tepid, but perhaps parenthood had done strange things to them both. Jon still got his share of the slappy-chokey and piano wire, and he suspected that would never change, though he’d come to crave that, as Dany had predicted from the beginning. But she seemed less interested in dictating every thought that passed through his mind as she’d once been. _Or it’s so effortless I don’t even notice it._ The worst of her evil streak had redirected itself toward those who in her eyes deserved it: criminals, pro-democracy agitators, neo-Nazis and their sympathizers, and apparently, Cersei and Tywin Lannister. _That was quite a show,_ or so he’d heard.

Still, having known Dany for some time, Jon knew that ‘no mind games’ was bullshit. _Her whole life is a mind game, and we’re all just pieces._ But he also knew that calling her out on it would lead to him dangling from the ceiling over a bear trap while Dany threw tennis balls at it. “Please, Your Majesty.”

Dany ignored him and slid her mouth over his cock. _This woman is incapable of a bad blow job._ Jon growled and arched his back, but like the good boy he was, kept his hands still. Blow job or not, she still hadn’t given him permission. She stopped for a second and smiled up at him. “Look, I’m not even making you beg!”

It was good. _Really good._ And the better it got, the harder it became not to move his hands. Dany rolled her tongue around his cock until it felt lost inside her. It throbbed and grew painfully hard, to assure him it was still there. _Too good._ Jon’s palms were sweaty, and his hands were starting to shake.

“You can move your hands now, dear.”

Jon hadn’t even realized she’d stopped. His mind was still bogged down processing just how fucking good that was. He looked down at her, but there was no teasing smile, only a wet-mouthed, wanton wife.

“Grab my hair,” she commanded. “Fuck my slutty little face until you come.”

 _Okay._ He grabbed her hair and pulled her mouth back onto his cock. _Where it belongs._ That was a dangerous thought. _It belongs where she wants it._ But that didn’t stop him from guiding it closer and pushing himself deeper down her throat.

If she objected, her moans gave no indication. One of her hands had made its way between her legs. Her hips thrust against nothing. She took him deeper, like her throat was competing with his hands for who could make the bigger whore of her. _Everything’s a competition with her._ Sometimes that annoyed him, but at the moment, he loved that about her.

Jon’s cock pulsed; the sort of pulse that only meant one thing. _Gimme that tongue, slut._ He rolled his hips, expecting precisely that, but got teeth instead. Not accidental teeth. Evil, sadistic teeth dragging hard against his shaft like the emergency brake on the wheels of a train. _Goddamnit._

Dany released her lips and met his eyes as he looked down, daring him to get rough with her and see what would happen. Furious, but not that stupid, he let go of her hair.

“I lied about the mind games.” She planted some more soft kisses on his cock. “And you’re an idiot if you believed me.”

Jon sighed. “I figured as much.” But he wasn’t quite angry. He’d come to love the mind games too, in their own strange way.

From the side of her lingerie, just beneath her armpit, Dany pulled a folded-up satin sleeping mask and tossed it at him. “Put that on.”

Jon obeyed his master. “You’re going to teach me something, aren’t you?” Dany was like a sexual Mr. Miyagi.

She chuckled. “I’m teaching you something every moment of your life, dear. So yes, I’m going to teach you something now.” She stroked his cock slowly, keeping him just close enough to the edge to make him miserable as she began her lesson. “What’s the difference between pleasure and agony?”

 _Or sometimes, Socrates._ It was a trick question, of course. They all were. “I don’t know, Your Majesty…” That was the safest answer, as it invited her to do whatever the fuck she was going to do to him anyway.

“Nothing,” she helpfully clarified. “Your body knows only sensations. _I_ decide what feels good.” She ran her thumb slowly and gently around the head of his cock, circling the edge, pressing the underside.

Suddenly, Jon was right back at the edge. He gasped. “Oh, God.”

“Anything can be agony,” Her Majesty explained as her hand left his cock. She blew on it, and over the cliff it went.

His seed spilled down the head and shaft, surrounded by nothing but cold air. Jon thrust blindly, like an idiot, like maybe there was something warm and wet just above it, but there wasn’t. It was one of the most intense orgasms he’d ever had, though it left him infuriatingly unsatisfied. _Agony._

Dany scooped some up with her fingertip and slid it between his lips. Jon sucked and tasted himself. It no longer disgusted him; it was merely what happened whenever he came outside his wife’s body.

 _Good boys clean up when they make a mess._ And that mess was all for her. He was lucky she let him make it at all. He pondered that, and his mind filled with gratitude that this woman allowed him to exist in her world. As soon as he lost himself in thought, the finger was gone, replaced by a burning slap to the face. _There’s Mr. Miyagi again._

“And anything can be bliss.” _God damn, she’s right._ That was no surprise. _She’s always right._ But it still surprised him just how right she always was. She kissed him deeply. He kissed back. _Mmm._ Her lips felt like they were made for his, as they always had, even when she was still just some business lady he fucked sometimes. “Do you want me to keep doing this until you’re hard again, and suck you off properly?” The kissing resumed for a minute. “Or do you want me to beat your bitch ass until you get all numb and weak and lightheaded?”

Jon purred into her mouth, kissed her some more, then answered. “I never know what I want when you ask those questions.”

She smacked him again, on the other cheek. “Because there’s no such thing as ‘what you want.’ There’s my way, or there’s nothing.”

 _If you thought I’d forgotten that…_ Before he could finish the thought, a knee slammed down onto the mattress next to his head. Then another, on the other side. He inhaled, his nostrils widening for that familiar scent. 

Dany ran her fingers gently through his hair. “I haven’t beaten you too much, recently.” _Oh, I’ve noticed._ “Because I can’t have you walking around like a scared puppy. I need you to rule with me. Alysanne needs a father.” She lowered herself onto his still-blindfolded face. “But if you think that makes you any less _mine,_ you haven’t learned today’s lesson.” Her hips started, nice and leisurely. “You’re not a stupid man, are you?”

Jon shook his head, with a mouth full of pussy. “Mm-mm.”

“Good, then you know this doesn’t hurt.” Her thighs clamped tight around his head. _Ow._ He reminded himself that it didn’t hurt. She thrust like a man would thrust into a woman to make a point. Her mound rolled over his nose like a freight train over a penny on the track. _Ow!_ But as she’d taught him, that didn’t hurt, either. He didn’t have time for it to hurt. Her pleasure was too important. Serving came first. Always. He found her clit with his tongue and held it out, letting her grind on it at will.

She did. And she moaned. He pressed his tongue harder against it. She moaned some more. He dragged it back and forth in rhythm with hers, teasing it with the tip of his tongue on the backbeat. That set her off, as he knew it would.

“I will _never_ let go of your mind,” she growled, suddenly speeding up her thrusts. _She loves talking about her own power._

Jon shook his head again, just enough to signal his agreement without interrupting. He’d known that since he woke up in that basement in Baghdad. He’d fought it at first, then resigned himself to it, then forgotten how to live otherwise. Her lesson about pain and pleasure was old news to him. She’d taught him that lesson the night she made him see those strange visions. _That was probably drugs,_ he knew, but that wasn’t the point. _She showed me things. That’s all that matters. She broke me that night._

Freshly showered and shaven, her pussy was too good for him to do anything but let her talk. So he opened his mouth wider as her taste rushed in, and listened, like a good boy.

“Even when you have your own thoughts, it’s because I let you have them. Because hearing them pleases me. Because they serve a purpose. Everything you do serves a purpose, whether you know it or not. _My_ purpose, and no one else’s.” _Why would I want to serve any other purpose?_

Her thighs squeezed his head, hard enough to pop it right off. Each grind of her hips; each drag of her pussy from his nose to his chin carried her body’s whole weight with it. Years of strap-ons and power trips had retrained her muscles. She fucked like a man. There was a forward momentum to her thrusts, like she wanted to put something inside him and leave it there to grow. To consume everything else in his life.

Jon struggled to breathe but remembered the lesson. _Pain and pleasure are what she decides to make it._ He made a point of sucking in only as much air as he needed, holding his head still, because only needy little bitches put air before her satisfaction.

No needy little bitch, Jon sealed his lips around her clit and sucked harder. Dany moaned louder and pressed her weight down on his face as a reward. “That’s right, suck that fucking clit.” She tightened her grip on his hair and pushed his head deeper into the pillow. “ _Suck it._ ”

Jon needed no such command. Her clit was hard and throbbing, and all he wanted to do was make it throb more. He did, harder, dragging and flicking his tongue against it.

“Suck it, suck it, suck it,” Dany snarled. “Come on, pussy slave, _SUCK IT!!_ ” Her thighs locked tighter around his head. She leaned forward and gripped the headboard, arching her back, grinding her hips, fucking his face like she owned it, because she did, and they had long stopped pretending otherwise. A moment later, their bodies stopped pretending that anything mattered but the unstoppable orgasm building inside his owner.

Dany’s clit started to pulse. Her last coherent words escaped her at the last possible second, like cars racing up an empty highway, fleeing a hurricane. “Fuck, I’m gonna come…”

The storm picked up. Wind, rain, and destruction everywhere. Jon felt the tension in her body as she put more of her weight into each thrust of her hips, but kept his mouth locked onto her clit for dear life. She screamed like only a woman at the height of pleasure could do, then roared deeply and furiously, pinning his head against the pillow as she hit her peak, growling and grunting like a man, launching herself inside him and depositing herself in his mind; staking her claim once more.

With one last sigh, she took off his blindfold, rolled off of him, and basked for a minute while Jon reacquainted himself with his own jaw.She planted her head on his chest and traced her finger aimlessly.

“How’s your cock, dear? Still doing its little refractory thing?”

Almost as serene as she was, Jon responded with a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t know…” He really didn’t; she’d fucked his face so hard, he’d forgotten it was there.

Dany nuzzled him for half a second, then looked down and flicked his cock with her fingertip. Jon’s cock was a workhorse, not a show horse, and wasn’t much to look at flaccid. For a moment, he worried she was growing bored of it. _Maybe you were wrong about the wire. Maybe she’s just a crazy cunt. Maybe you’re making too many excuses for her._ Then it woke up and got ready for work.

“Mmm.” She flicked it a few more times in rapid succession. “Flicky, flicky, flicky! Mine, mine, mine!” _Well, at least she’s not bored with it._ Apparently, Dany had decided those particular bursts of pain were supposed to feel good, and his cock began to swell and lift itself up. She rolled onto her stomach next to him, then grabbed Jon’s palm and spat on it. “Be quick about it, dear.”

As his cock grew into the air, so did Dany’s ass, in that catlike, ‘come-fuck-me’ stretch. She wiggled it a bit, slid her hand between her legs, and teased a moan out of herself.

She watched him stroke, and her eyes narrowed and lit up at the same time. “I said, _be quick about it._ ” Another soft gasp escaped her, and that was all he needed to be quick about it. Her humanity, or the essence of whatever higher form of life she was, melted away. She lost herself in desire, and became an animal. Wild, feral, and in heat. _All she wants is my cock in her,_ which meant she wasn’t bored with it, for which Jon was grateful and relieved. She seemed almost desperate, in fact; her panting like a silent prayer that he’d find her a suitable mate.

Being quick about it, Jon got up to his knees and positioned himself behind her. He teased her clit with the head of his cock, as he knew she liked. He could feel her, wetter by the second, warm and hungry. He grabbed her ass with one hand and pulled her back. Just as he was about to push inside, she reached back and smacked his cock out of the way.

“Stop,” Dany commanded, calmly but firmly. _Please, no._ “Did I say you could fuck me?!” _You practically begged me._ But her voice and eyes dared him to say that out loud.

Instead, he acknowledged the truth. _Her truth._ “No, Your Majesty.”

“You think that you fucked me the other night means you’re worthy now?”

“Absolutely not, Your Majesty.”

“Show me why I should give you this pussy again. The whole world wants it. Why should I give it to you?”

Frustrated from the cockblocking and weak from desire, Jon let his sassiness slip out. “Because you want me, too.”

“Terribly,” Dany admitted. “Almost unbearably.” She kicked him in the balls from behind like a mule, sending him reeling back, but not enough to keep him from popping right back up to where he’d been. _Sooner or later, she’ll want it._ “But this gives me power,” Dany went on. _Of course._ “And power is the only thing I might want more than your cock. So fucking remind me why you’re the only man I should give it up for.”

Jon wasn’t sure what that meant, and like an idiot, he compiled a list of his more desirable traits. “Well, I’m down to Earth, I’m a surprisingly good cook, I--”

Dany reached back and grabbed his cock again, pulling it toward her. “I mean prove yourself, you pretty little idiot! _Fuck me!_ ”

 _That’s another excellent trait of mine,_ if he did say so himself. Wordlessly, Jon lined back up and entered her, slowly but forcefully, as a worthy man should. Dany gasped and opened her knees a bit, backing herself up to bring him in deeper.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.” Jon had only been in Minnesota for a night, but he’d been craving it from the moment he left. _You always crave home._ Minnesota might have been where he grew up, but this was his home, now. _We were born for this._

Dany backed up harder and growled. “Then act like it, bitch!”

 _Shut the fuck up._ He smacked her ass, hard, and yanked her as far back as she’d go, then built his rhythm. He knew her little heckling routine was designed to piss him off, and it worked. Dany screamed and let go of herself, clutching the headboard as Jon thrust and pulled. _It’s early, though,_ he reminded himself. _She’s still testing you._

“Yes, yes, yes, right there, _harder! Fuck! Yes!_ ”

Jon needed no encouragement to fuck her harder, grabbing her shoulder with one hand and pulling her hair back with another.

“Harder! Fuck your crazy cunt wife so hard it hurts. _Do it! Hurt me!_ ”

 _I thought you said there’s no difference between pleasure and pain,_ Jon reminded her silently as he smacked her ass again and pried her fingers off the headboard with a hard with a rough tug of her hair. She backed against him furiously, almost frustrated.

“ _MORE!!_ ” The demand came more as a scream than a word.

“Shut the fuck up.” He gripped her neck from behind and growled into her ear. “You talk too much; you know that?”

“You shut up,” Dany growled back. _No, you._ Jon bit her earlobe and tugged hard. “ _OH, GOD, YES!!_ I’ll be quiet, I promise, please, _FUCK ME!!_ ”

He let go, and Dany fell back down onto the mattress, her hands too weak and distracted to grip the headboard. Hard as he was fucking her, Jon could have held perfectly still; Dany was grinding so hard and so fast that she couldfinish the job for him, even if he'd stayed perfectly still. So fast he could barely keep up. So hard it hurt. _Hurt her back._ Good boys did do what they’re told, after all. He grabbed her waist and pulled back, breaking her rhythm and sending ripples of shock through her ass and her lower back.

Dany kept her promise. Sort of. She said nothing but broke into one prolonged scream as Jon grew closer to the edge, fucking her like a bad dog fucking a cheap squeak toy, each thrust backed by all his weight and strength. _No difference between pleasure and pain. Prove you’ve learned. Give it to her._

“Come in my pussy,” she finally muttered after she could no longer maintain the scream. “Come in my pussy, come in my pussy, come in my pussy.”

She’d read his mind again. _Do what she says. Give her what she wants. Submit. Always. No matter how nice you think she’s being, or how much freedom you think you have. There’s nothing but her will._ Fortunately, though, her will and his increasingly uncontrollable impulse were perfectly aligned. Jon dug his fingers into his wife’s ass, screamed, and let loose, holding her where she was, spilling himself deep inside her. Another thrust. Another burst. Deeper. Then another. Deeper than the last, until he’d emptied himself. Dany shouted all sorts of beautiful invective that Jon didn’t have the wits to listen to.

He left himself inside for as long as he could, until his cock lost its mass and slid out, then slid down onto his stomach, sealed his mouth over her twitching, freshly fucked pussy, and cleaned her out. She wiggled and moaned and gave him a slurred “good boy,” but he said nothing, because good boys shut the fuck up until they’re finished. And when he finally did, he crawled back to the head of the bed and lay on his back; breathless, sleepy, and satisfied.

Dany melted into a pile of quivering flesh herself, landing face-down at first, then crawled back onto his chest. “God, I needed that. Reminds me I’m alive _._ ”

Still too winded to speak, Jon simply kissed her on the head. _You know you’re alive. You need a reminder you’re human. Sometimes you don’t know. You brag you’re a living god, but deep down you’re scared you’re missing something._ But the thing about reminding herself she was human was that now Jon knew it, too.

The next morning, Jon woke at four and donned his old Army dress uniform. He hadn’t worn it since his country was still a republic, and felt a bit like a traitor, though he couldn’t tell to which side. The ‘U.S.’ pins on his lapel now read ‘R.A.’ for Royal Army. Dany had dropped the ‘United States’ from America’s name, to dispense with the notion that her Kingdom was fifty sovereign countries all doing each other a favor by ‘uniting.’ But despite everything, that was the only change she’d made. _And the five stars on the shoulders,_ but that was just for him. Everything else was the same, including the medals, all of which he’d earned.

Dany smiled as zipped up her dress in front of the mirror. “God, I want to rip that uniform right off of you.”

“Have I ever worn anything you didn’t want to rip right off of me?”

Blushing, Dany declined to answer.

Jon held her tight, kissing and nipping at her neck. “Maybe in the helicopter?”

It was a smaller class than usual; many had dropped out when Her Majesty offered amnesty to non-essential military personnel who couldn’t bring themselves to swear their lives to her, provided they otherwise obey the law. Most had stayed, though, after she promised a thirty percent pay increase for everyone at the rank of Major or below, paid for by what she called the ‘employee discount’ America now received on weapons manufactured by her company. WIthout the same pay incentive, senior officers left in greater numbers, which was the point. Dany let the dangerous ones purge themselves and promoted the junior officers who had served her loyally during the coup.

Dany shook her head. “No time.” he Military Academy at West Point, where Jon was scheduled to address the graduating class, was only a ten-minute flight from Greenwich. Too quick, even for a quickie. “And I have news.” That brought a smile to her face.

 _Oh, Jesus._ “News?”

She replied only with a coy kiss on the cheek.

They dressed, said goodbye to their daughter, and joined Sam, Sansa, and Missandei downstairs. Bronn had the day off, because it was Saturday, and he’d recently insisted on having the day off to observe the Sabbath. Jorah, a.k.a. Panty Bitch, a.k.a. [Jorah Smith Fuck Frog Brigham Young Clit Face Shit Come Out The Butt Jesus Says Fuck Fuck Mormont](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYTpd8QOSA0), served them breakfast.

“Let’s go,” Dany commanded, after tossing a banana peel in Jorah’s face for fun. “I’ve got news.”

Once they’d boarded the helicopter and the door had closed, Dany crossed her legs and put on a giddy, shit-eating grin. “So. Guess what.”

Nobody wanted to guess what. Jon cut the tense silence. “What?”

“I bought North Korea.”

“You _bought_ North Korea," Sansa repeated, flashing a look at Sam. _You’ll get used to shit like this._

Missandei smiled, amused.

Jon looked back at his wife. “Wh-- _how?!_ ”

Dany took another big bite of shit and grinned accordingly. “Dennis Rodman brokered it.”

“How do you know Dennis Rodman?” _You’ll regret asking that._

“Who do you think kept [breaking his dick](https://youtu.be/p3zDKkoNMcg)?” _Yup._ Sam sighed. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but what in the living fuck are you going to do with North Korea?”

“Flip it,” Missandei answered for her.

Jon had to laugh. “Like a condo?”

“No,” Dany answered defensively. “I’m a legitimate businesswoman. My subjects may not be fit to govern themselves, but nobody’s stupid enough to put a shady, impulsive real estate developer with questionable foreign connections in charge of the world’s only superpower. I mean, can you imagine?!”

Everyone laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

“Seriously, though. Buy it for half a trillion, let the Russians and Chinese invest another half a trillion rebuilding it, sell it to them for five trillion, use that to build space lasers to kill anyone anywhere instantly, and fucking take what’s mine. Jesus, I don’t get what’s so hard to understand about this.”

“Have you considered what Kim Jong Un might do with half a trillion dollars?” Sansa asked.

“Die of a fake heart attack while the money’s still in escrow. Come on, people, this is Dany 101!”

Jon looked to his advisors. _Nobody’s talking her out of space lasers._ Dany had wanted to vaporize people at will from her iPhone from the moment she bought her first iPhone. “Welcome to Her Majesty’s service,” he said with a wry smile.

They landed minutes later, greeted by the Commandant of West Point when they disembarked. He bowed quickly but respectfully for Dany and kissed her hand. _Ew._ Jon got a crisp salute.

“Your Majesties.” It was almost sarcastic. He stuck his hand out for a shake so quickly that Jon thought he was about to get shanked. He didn’t, nor did he flinch, though he suspected that was the goal.

Jon nodded respectfully at the Commandant, played the requisite stare-down game, and extricated himself from the handshake as soon as he could. “Good to see you again.”

It was not remotely good to see Alliser Thorne again. Thorne had been Jon’s commanding officer in Iraq, and despised him for no discernible reason. The feeling was mutual. He’d since become a Brigadier General, though Jon’s career trajectory had clearly surpassed his, and he was sure Thorne resented it. _God, I hope she tells me to kill you._ The more Jon killed for her, the more he wanted to do it again, to show her his devotion to her and to wiping out everything that stood in the way of the world she wanted to build.

After the usual meetings, greetings, and ass-kissing, the ceremony got underway. Dany sat next to Thorne on the bleachers, and Jon took the podium to begin his speech. He started with some war stories to prove his right to be there, then addressed the elephant in the room.

“When you started here four years ago, you probably thought you were training to fight for democracy. They taught you all about the Revolutionary War, and how impressive it was that a bunch of amateurs defeated the best army in the world at the time, and shook off the yoke of monarchy. None of you expected a monarch-- _your_ monarch--to speak at your graduation. Many of you still have serious reservations about it. I understand.”

“But the truth is that we all stopped fighting for democracy when democracy stopped fighting for us. When it broke America down into tribes and--” From the corner of his eye, he spotted a rustling in the crowd. “Fuck.”

Jon was quick on the draw, but the cadet had a head start. The bullet missed Jon’s head by a few inches. He clutched the podium and started to duck. _Kings don’t duck._ So he pulled his pistol from his coat pocket and shot back.

The crowd screamed and scattered, which Jon thought was a bit cowardly for a bunch of newly-minted officers. But he forgave them when he saw the detonator in the man’s other hand.

The cadet fired two more shots toward the stage, then charged it. Jon stepped out from behind the podium and stared the man down. _I’m an idiot._

Sensing an opportunity, the cadet stopped and shouted. “ _SIC SEMPER TY--_ ”

He hit the button too quickly, and the explosion cut him off, but everyone knew the rest. Guts and smoke and shrapnel flew everywhere, and suddenly everything looked like Fallujah again. _Or Dany’s basement, or whatever that was._

The shockwave knocked Jon to the floor, forcing him to duck, whether it was kingly or not. He stood as soon as the dust stopped flying, scanned the field to find nothing but burning bodies, and turned toward his wife.

 _No, no, no._ Dany was face-up on the floor, her dress covered in blood. Some guards had finally managed to surround her, but Jon pushed them out of the way and yanked Sam into the gap.

“ _HOW BAD IS IT?!_ ”

“Shoulder,” Sam replied. _Good,_ all things considered. “Could be worse, but we need to stop the--” _Bleeding. Right._

Apparently, Sam had been deemed too important for that. As he took off his tie for a makeshift tourniquet, two guards dragged him and Jon off the stage toward the helicopter behind it. Another four carried Dany, as a medic shoved an oxygen mask over her face. _Where were you assholes thirty seconds ago?!_

Her Majesty did not like the mask one bit, and screamed what must have been some truly choice words, but none of them were audible. Whether she’d come to her senses or simply lost too much blood, she’d stopped by the time the guards brought her onto the helicopter and plopped her limply into a seat.

They were in the air before the door was all the way closed. Dany waved Sam and the medics away and pulled Jon to his knees by her side.

“Where’s Alysanne?” She asked weakly, pale and scared.

“In the bunker.” The lie served as a command, and a guard covered his mouth and passed it along on his radio.

“Good.” She grabbed his hand with an encouraging amount of strength, as a medic stuck an IV needle into her arm. “Don’t go anywhere. I need you.”

The previous night’s lesson about pleasure and pain flashed through Jon’s mind. _Still think there’s no difference?_ But it was the wrong time to press it. “I’m not going anywhere. You stay with me, too.” Sam seemed reasonably sure the wound wasn’t mortal, so Jon rounded that up to “You’ll be okay.”

“This is why I’ve been nice to you," Dany whispered, briefly smiling. _Is that real, or the drugs?_

Jon was confused. “Because you need me?”

“No.” The smile disappeared, and her eyes narrowed. _It’s not the drugs._ Wounded or otherwise, this woman was utterly in control. “To save the monster for whoever did this.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI I am about to go on vacation for roughly two weeks, and I don't plan to do any writing while I'm gone. So my next chapter will take that much longer for me to write. Hang in there. I have not abandoned the fic.
> 
> Also, to the "guest" who keeps asking me to do a scene in which Dany does senseless, terrible things to Dolorous Edd, I have a present for you:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828885
> 
> The scene takes place in this modern AU but has no bearing on the plot, so it's okay if you skip it. Though I do think that readers who share my perversions and my dark sense of humor will enjoy it, and I encourage them to take a look (it's short by my standards.


	14. Lancel I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancel meets Arianne Martell, learns "many things."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As in all of my fics, I reserve the right to mix book and show elements where it's convenient. This fic has been almost entirely show canon, but in this case, a book reference was convenient. The major female character in this chapter is Arianne Martell, who was (tragically!) cut from the show's Dorne plot. If you're not familiar with her, look her up on the ASOIAF Wikipedia, and read Chapter 13 of A Feast for Crows. She's one sexy lady.

Lancel and his brethren huddled around the TV in the main building of their compound, on a rare patch of fertile land outside Tucson. Built in the middle of the twentieth century, the grounds served as a safe haven for followers of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints who had been driven out of Utah by the heretical assimilationists who had taken over their beloved Church. The brethren were celebrating; Lancel, their newest and most famous convert, was not.

_They think this is a done deal._ But something in his gut told him otherwise. Avenging his cousin and turning America back into a free republic couldn’t be this easy.

One of the brethren started passing out non-alcoholic beer. _Idiot._ Unlike most of them, Lancel knew what real beer tasted like. _Heavenly Father forbids it. Why pretend to defy Him?_ Even more stupidly, another began singing some [ Civil War song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5Rm0dQabS0).

> _Yes we’ll rally ‘round the flag, boy, we’ll rally once again;_
> 
> _Shouting the battle cry of freedom!_

Others joined in.

> _And we’ll rally from the hillside, we’ll gather from the plains;_
> 
> _Shouting the battle cry of freedom!_

Lancel wanted to warn them not to shout it too loud, still uncertain whether the celebration was warranted.

> _The Union forever! Hurrah, boys, hurrah!_
> 
> _Down with the traitors; up with the star!_

_If we killed them,_ he wondered, _would they even announce it?_ Sooner or later they’d have to. This was America, not some two-bit Communist dictatorship. _Of course, they’ll announce it. They’ll make them into martyrs, and abandon any pretense of mercy._ And what if one of them lives but the other dies? _She would burn this country down, and her traitor husband would be just as terrible as she was._

The plan after the assassination was for his men to occupy Royalist government buildings in Tucson, in hopes of inspiring others to do the same nationwide, but now he wondered if they’d even make it into town without being killed in a drone strike. _This was the most poorly-planned revolution in history._

> _Yes, we’re streaming to the call, like our brothers gone before;_
> 
> _Shouting the battle cry of freedom!_
> 
> _And we’ll fill the vacant ranks with a million freedmen more;_
> 
> _Shouting the--_

“Hey!” Lancel finally shouted. “Quiet down!” The room muttered but listened. “The mission isn’t over yet. Pay attention to the TV.”

Right on cue, the TV announced that the National Guard had been called out, and the borders had been closed to both inbound and outbound traffic. _Great._ Lancel’s mind started spinning in circles again.

_We’ll never take Tucson,_ he had no choice but to concede, though he wasn’t ready to say it out loud. “Get the Tahoes ready,” he ordered, not bothering to take his eyes off the TV.

“Yes, sir!” Some of his more eager brethren shouted as they scurried out the door. Their [Chevy Tahoes](https://imgur.com/a/rOXpUCH) had been outfitted with homemade armor plating, bullet-proof glass, small holes fitted for gun barrels, and suspensions that allowed them to drive offroad the way they did in the commercials. They were ready in minutes, though Lancel stayed glued to the TV for the better part of an hour.

The next piece of news came like a punch to the gut. _‘HER MAJESTY LIVES,’_ read the crawler, because of course she did. _We’re all dead if we stay here._ The photo they provided as proof was some of the most brilliant political stagecraft he’d ever seen. There she was, surrounded by her husband and advisors in the White House Situation Room, looking slightly tired with a bloody dress and a heavily bandaged shoulder, but otherwise perfectly intact. _How does she do it?_ Even Cersei couldn’t have pulled that off. She’d still be in her hospital bed, skimming through the phone book for people to blame.

“That’s it.” Lancel stood. “Get the cash, too. We’re going to our brethren in Mexico.” The cash, of course, was to bribe their way in. The Fundamentalist LDS church had a similar compound in the Mexican state of Sonora, about six hours south of Tucson on the interstate; maybe eight or more on the backroads. The faithful in America had fled there in droves after the coup, and some of them had begun to cobble together a militia.

“But they just said the border’s closed,” Elder Pryce replied unhelpfully. Pryce, who was responsible for Lancel’s joining the fold, was one of those grandfatherly old men who was more cunning than he looked, but whom Lancel feared was not quite crafty enough for the major leagues.

“They can close the interstate, but they can’t close the desert. We’re trapped animals now, don’t you see?! The only chance a trapped animal has is to break out of the trap.”

Minutes later, Lancel, his brethren, and their wives had all packed into the caravan of about a dozen SUVs, and by sunset, they were flying down a dirt road somewhere outside the border town of Nogales.

The sirens came just as Lancel was starting to think once again that Heavenly Father might actually be on his side. _Have we made it far enough south?_ He’d have a much better idea where he was had his GPS been working, but he must have been too far out in the boonies. All he knew was that he was somewhere south of Tucson, not on the Interstate, and that he’d been driving into the wee hours of the morning.

Elder Pryce looked over from the front passenger seat, reaching for the glove compartment. “Should we shoot?”

“No. Let’s take our chances.” Shooting meant a quick death. Pulling over might mean a much slower one, but then again, it might mean freedom. _Only a coward would choose a quick death now._ He took his foot off the gas and gradually coasted to a stop.

_Heavenly Father,_ he prayed silently, _deliver us from this evil woman and her servants. Protect us in this desperate hour. Let us—_ before he could finish, the cop was at his window, armed to the teeth and wearing a thick Kevlar vest.

“Let me see your passports,” he demanded. “Everyone.” By the distinct accent and the flag on the cop’s shoulder, Lancel could tell they’d made it into Mexico. _Oh, thank You, Heavenly Father._

“Sir,” he pleaded as he handed his passport over, “we’re seeking Asylum here. Our people are being persecuted by—”

“Be quiet, please.” He collected passports from the men in the Tahoe, as other cops did the same for the others and their wives in the SUVs a few yards behind them. “Anything in this car I should know about? Guns? Tobacco?”

“We have some rifles,” Elder Pryce answered before Lancel could. “And quite a lot of cash. Perhaps we could—” _Don’t do that._

“I hope you are not trying to bribe me, sir,” the cop replied.

“He’s not,” said Lancel. It was Lancel’s luck to be pulled over by the only cop in Mexico who couldn’t be bribed. Bribery was a crime, of course, but under the circumstances, he felt fairly sure it was not a sin for which they’d be judged.

The cop took their passports and shoved them in his pocket without looking. “And why are you in Mexico?”

“Like I said,” Lancel tried to explain, “we—”

“More importantly, how did you get in? The Americans closed the border, after—” _After that brave man tried to murder a false Queen?_ Lancel was keenly aware of that.

“We merely want to get to our brothers' ranch, where we can be safe. We do not wish to break any laws. We want to apply for asylum and stay here legally.”

“We’re Mormons,” Elder Pryce added as if the ‘Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints’ painted on the side of their Tahoes didn’t make that obvious. “Daenerys Targaryen hates Mormons, and all good Christians, such as yourself.”

The guard seemed uninterested in debating whom Daenerys Targaryen hated, or who was a good Christian. He put his hand on his machine gun. “Get out of the car, please. All of you.”

With no other choice, Lancel and his men obeyed, as did their wives behind them. More cops appeared from what seemed like out of nowhere, cuffed them all, sat them in a ditch beside the road, and searched the SUVs. After a few minutes, and some back-and-forth in Spanish over their radios, two large vans marked _‘Policía, Estado de Sonora’_ pulled up, and the cop who pulled them over returned.

“You are all under arrest,” he announced to the group. “We will take you to the State Police station for—”

“No!” Elder Pryce interrupted. “You need to take us to the _Federales_!” He gestured toward Lancel with his head. “Do you know who this is?!”

_Probably not,_ Lancel thought, _and by Heavenly Father’s grace._

The cop gave Lancel the once-over and shook his head.

Elder Pryce was determined to tell him. “This is Lancel Lannister!”

That got nothing but a confused look from the cop.

“First cousin of the rightful and duly elected President of the United States! The only Lannister who still believes in the cause of freedom!”

The cop pulled out Lancel’s passport, read it, and looked back at him skeptically.

“Google him! Please, sir!”

A few cops moved closer and drew their guns as the leader reached into his other pocket. For some reason, his phone worked fine. Lancel wondered what came up as other suggested searches. _Lancel Lannister Mormon, Lancel Lannister Hero, Lancel Lannister Terrorist, Lancel Lannister In Over His Head…_

Satisfied, or at least persuaded of some chance that he wasn’t full of shit, the guard put his phone away, turned to his colleague, and went into another prolonged conversation in Spanish.

“ _Como se dice in Español,_ paperwork?” Elder Pryce shouted at them.

Both cops sighed. “Paper- _woork_ ,” they repeated in grim unison.

“ _Sí, mucho_ paperwork….” _Elder Pryce might be onto something._ “Let the _Federales_ do it.”

The cops muttered something to each other in Spanish and got back on their radios. About an hour later, Lancel and his group were herded onto a school bus marked _‘Policía Federal.’_ A few hours after that, they reached what must have been the federal police station in what Lancel assumed was Hermosillo, the capital of Sonora. He and his men went into in one large cell, and their wives in another. It must have been well past dawn by the time a prison guard approached the cell bars.

“ _¿Cuál de ustedes es Lancel Lannister?_ ”

Fluent enough in Spanish to recognize his own name, Lancel stood. The guard opened the door and gestured for Lancel to follow, then quickly shut the door behind him. As more guards led him down a long hallway, Lancel gave his elevator pitch for granting asylum, as if this guard had any say in that.

Mormons were a peaceful people, he tried to explain, still wearing his short-sleeved white button-down with black pants and tie. They kept to their compounds and asked only to be able to practice their religion in peace. The threat from Daenerys was far worse. She hated Christianity and all it stood for. She was a tyrant; a maniac who wanted nothing short of genocide against his people. And if Mexico thought she had no designs on conquering her neighbors, they hadn’t been paying attention.

But the guards either didn’t understand him or didn’t care. Ignoring his entreaties, they led him silently into an interrogation room, sat him down in a chair with his hands cuffed in front of him, and left him alone. Mounted to the ceiling in the corner was a TV, with Spanish news showing a smartphone video of the botched assassination, and that picture of Daenerys in the Situation Room, over and over again.

Maybe a half hour later entered by far the most beautiful cop Lancel had ever seen; dark-skinned, with thick black hair and curves that could tempt a man away from Heavenly Father’s righteous path even from inside her bulky police uniform, complete with badge, gun, and nightstick. She introduced herself as Arianne Martell, the _Segundo Comandante_ in charge of the State of Sonora for the Mexican federal police, and cut Lancel off before he could get through a word of introduction.

“And I believe you are who you say,” she assured him in accented but otherwise perfect English. “If you’re lying, you picked a very stupid lie.”

Lancel sighed. “You’re going to turn me over?”

Arianne grinned. “The Department of State in Mexico City will decide that. That, as you say, is above my pay grade. I’m simply going to interrogate you.”

“I have nothing to hide.”

Comandante Martell sat across from him and pulled from her briefcase a clipboard with what looked like a stack of forms, and a ballpoint pen. “Where did you cross into Mexico?”

“I don’t know,” Lancel replied. “Somewhere east of Nogales. It was a dirt road.”

She clicked her pen, scribbled down his answer, and read the next question. “When?”

“I don’t know. A few hours ago, I suppose.”

Another scribble. “Why?”

_This is your chance._ “I am a member of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. We believe in the original teachings of the prophet Joseph Smith. The current American government has enacted policies that--”

“I see.” Arianne clicked her pen again and moved to write it down. “ _Quiere… casarse… con… niñas_.”

_This, again._ “We do not marry little girls!” They weren’t children, as far as Heavenly Father was concerned, and that was good enough for Lancel.

“Okay,” she conceded, crossing out her original answer. “Tried to murder Daenerys Targaryen, and later thought perhaps that was a foolish idea.”

Lancel hadn’t expected that to come up so quickly, though in retrospect, why wouldn’t it? “I know nothing about the attempted assassination,” he lied.

Arianne leaned forward. “She overthrew your cousin. She loves abortion, and the gays, and she does bad things to people who do bad things to little girls. Why wouldn’t you want to kill her?”

“Because Heavenly Father teaches us that--”

She laughed out loud at that one. “Your God said killing is wrong, too?! So does everyone else’s, what a coincidence! Does He make exceptions for people you disagree with? Mine does. Most do.”

Lancel folded his hands on the table and straightened his back to buy himself some time to come up with an answer.

“Put your palms flat on the table.”

“Excuse me? I don’t have any weapons.” He opened his hands to show her.

“I really think you should put your palms flat on the table, Mr. Lannister.” Something in her eyes told him she wasn’t kidding, and that this had nothing to do with the rest of the interrogation.

“Alright…”

She slid her hands over his, then drew them back, grinning. Something made him want to follow hers. _Soft. Warm._ But he stopped himself. _Unholy._ “When people like you show up in my office, I’m supposed to call Mexico City right away, for them to decide what to do with you.”

_Take your fate like a man._ “I understand.”

“Perhaps they will use you as a...what do you call it when you trade a--”

“A bargaining chip.” Lancel had been well aware of that possibility.

“Yes, a bargaining chip. Daenerys gives us something we want, in exchange for you. Perhaps we will let you stay, and make you into a hero. A trophy for the resistance and a source of humiliation, like Russia did with Edward Snowden. Or perhaps we will turn you over right away, because why would she try to force us to do her bidding if we’ll do it without her asking? All I know is in the first two possibilities, you go back to America and its very angry Queen. In the third, the Queen gets angry at us, and probably comes for you anyway—maybe with a few dozen troops, or maybe with a few hundred thousand. I don't think my government will choose that option, do you?”

“Please, ma'am, I understand you have a job to do. But we’re not here to cause trouble. All we want is to be left alone. Mormons are peaceful people. We don’t--”

“You’re peaceful? Your truck says ‘fundamentalist’ on it. Fundamentalists are never peaceful for long.”

“Then what about a fourth possibility? Do what you must with me, but let my friends and their wives go in peace. They knew nothing of the plot,” he lied again. “Spare them from Daenerys, at least.”

“How about a fifth possibility?” Arianne smirked. “How about we pretend this never happened?”

_Finally,_ Lancel thought. _A cop I can bribe._ “I have some briefcases in the car that you might find--”

Arianne laughed. “No, silly boy. I don’t want your money. I want your silence.”

“Silence about what?” As far as Lancel could tell, Arianne had done everything surprisingly by-the-book, and there was nothing for him to be silent about.

Arianne stood and moved behind him. Lancel tried to follow her with his eyes but ran out of room to crane his neck. She hovered over him, bending forward until her lips were inches away from his. As he fought a sudden and unwanted urge to kiss her, she unlocked his handcuffs and moved his wrists behind his back, only to cuff them again. The next thing he knew, the knot in his tie had found its way to the back of his neck, and his eyes to the ceiling, staring up at Arianne as she loomed over him.

“Silence about what I do to you tonight.”

Lancel could feel his heart starting to race. He tried to fight against his restraints but failed.

“Oh, no, my friend.” Arianne’s smile was gone. “It’s this, or take your chances with Daenerys.”

_It’s all part of Heavenly Father’s plan,_ he tried to remind himself. No mortal man could understand that plan, but Lancel had a strong hunch it involved him avoiding Daenerys at all costs. _This can’t possibly be as bad. No one is as evil as her._ So he took a deep breath, resigned himself the best he could, and closed his eyes.

With that came a tug to his neck. “Open your eyes.”

Lancel had no choice. _‘It’s this, or take your chances with Daenerys.’_

“Have you ever had a woman tell you what to do before?”

_Yes. Cersei._ But that was different. Cersei told everyone what to do, all the time. Lancel shook his head.

“No, of course not. That might give them ideas.” Still gripping his tie, she ran her other hand down his chest to his belt, expertly unbuckling it and pulling it from its loops. “Up. Bend over.”

“What?”

Arianne pulled him up by his tie and flipped him onto his stomach. “Have they changed the words in English since I learned it?!” With that, she shoved the bottom of his tie into his mouth. “Bite that.”

Not done talking, Lancel spat it out. “What are you doing to me?!”

Before any words came the tip of her nightstick, tapping gently against his cheekbone. “Bite it,” Arianne repeated, “or they’ll hear you screaming all the way up in Washington.” The tie went back in his mouth, and this time stayed there.

Once she seemed confident he wouldn’t spit his tie out again, Arianne reached around, unzipped his pants, yanked them to the floor, and giggled. “I thought the magic underwear was a joke!”

_They’re the garment of the Holy Priesthood, not ‘magic underwear.’_ Whatever they were, Lancel felt her tear a hole in the back just large enough for her to stick her hands in and rip them open the rest of the way, exposing his ass to the open air.

The next thing he heard was the jingling of his belt buckle, then the snap of leather on leather. Of all the things he had to fear, this seemed like the least of them, yet for a moment, he forgot all about Daenerys. The last time he’d been nearly this vulnerable was with Cersei when she brought him into her bed over Thanksgiving weekend during his freshman year of college. _Don’t be an idiot, of course you’ve been more vulnerable._ He’d just driven hundreds of miles through the open desert, a fat, easy target for a drone. He’d just been captured and faced extradition to a country whose supreme rulers he’d just tried to murder.

But a drone strike was a flash of light and a trip to Heaven; his soul would be gone before the dust settled, and all Daenerys would find in the wreckage was a burnt, empty corpse. A show trial and a bit of torture before his death were all sins against his earthly body, that no longer mattered the moment her flames consumed him. This was a different sort of vulnerability. A scarier sort. _You’ll live through this, and remember it. You’ll have to face your brethren. You’ll have to spend your whole life pretending it never happened, or they’ll call you weak, or accuse you of liking it. And what if they’re right?_

Lancel was reasonably sure that wouldn’t happen. _You’re not blushing,_ he insisted to himself, even though it felt like he was. Lancel was barely even aware such things were done, save for the various plot summaries of _Fifty Shades of Grey_ he’d picked up on the news. _And never with the man as the victim._

The first sting of the belt to his flesh seemed to justify his fear. He cried out in agony, and his ass clenched even tighter than it already had been, bracing for the next blow. It came in seconds, and so did the cracking sound, and the tears.

The Comandante laughed. “You think this is bad? Daenerys Targaryen will make you fuck a meat grinder and turn the crank yourself. You’re going to like this by the time I’m done with you. Now relax your ass.”

She hit him again, making him scream into his makeshift gag and clench his ass even tighter.

“You have no idea how to relax your ass, do you?”

_Not even the slightest._ And Lancel wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of listening to her, anyway.

The next lash brought a tear to his eye. Lancel gripped the edge of the table, white-knuckled, and tried to hide his face.

Arianne chuckled. “Crying like a bitch already?” She lashed him again. “And you want to lead an insurgency?” And again. “Against _her?!_ ” That picture of Daenerys was all over the TV. Another lash came just as the image switched. “And _him?!_ ” Someone had taken a cell phone video of Jon Snow pulling a gun from his jacket and shooting from the podium, probably saving his wife’s life.

_I just guaranteed them another ten years in power._ Half the people who objected to how she came to power--people he’d hoped would fight with him--would probably vote for her if she held an election, now. It was the sting of defeat in his heart, not the belt on his ass, that finally made him relax just in time for the next lash. _She was right,_ he realized. _It hurts less._ It almost felt good.

The lashes continued until he was numb. Tears flowed steadily down his cheeks, though he’d forgotten when they started, or how badly the lashes had hurt at the time. He could feel his ass swelling, and suspected it would hurt to sit down, but had given up guessing when she’d finally let him.

Suddenly, they stopped. _Thank God._ But the gratitude was short lived. From nowhere came a sensation. Inside him and going up. _Jesus Christ, that’s a finger!_ It wasn’t a curse, so much as a plea for help. Not wanting to test his Lord and Savior’s emergency response time, however, Lancel jumped toward the table and managed to wiggle away from her, but not for long.

Arianne grabbed his cuffs and pulled him back where he was, then dealt him a hard, punitive crack of the belt on his ass. “What did I _just_ tell you about relaxing your ass?”

“Stop!” Lancel cried, spitting out his gag. “Stop! Please!”

“ _You_ stop resisting.” She spread his cheeks open. “Unless you want to go back to America.”

Somehow, Lancel found the wherewithal to relax, just in time for the next lash of the belt. _Don’t clench, don’t clench, don’t clench._ Arianne’s finger went back inside. _Don’t clench!_

The finger wiggled around inside him, as Arianne taunted him. “Does that feel good?” She stroked it back and forth. “Hm?”

It hurt, but something about it was undeniably pleasurable. Every nerve in his body felt alive. Every sensation he felt seemed to spread inside him, all through his body to his fingers and toes.

The next thing he knew, he was on his back. Arianne grabbed his legs and threw them onto her shoulders. _Oh, God, please, no._ Lancelfelt exposed; hers for the taking. He looked at the nightstick on her belt. _No, please, not that._

Heavenly Father must have finally heard his prayers. Instead, Arianne sat on the chair between his legs, smiling up at him and stroking his cock.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

Still too scared to answer any other way, Lancel nodded. Arianne planted a kiss on the base of his shaft, then dragged the tip of her tongue along it until it began to grow. _But I don’t want this,_ he reminded himself. _Heavenly Father, I swear, I don’t want this._ HIs cock did, though, growing and stiffening on its own until it throbbed in her hand.

Lancel gasped as her mouth enveloped his cock, and tried to squirm away to prove to Heavenly Father he was serious. But the motion only dug the metal cuffs deeper into his wrists, and the pain stopped him from getting very far. So the blow job went on, as Arianne took him deep down her throat and rolled her tongue around the head of his cock, moaning to herself and mocking his helplessness against her. She once again took him past hisfear and brought him to surrender. But just as surrender was about to turn into bliss, just as the orgasm was beginning to build inside him, she stopped.

Again, Lancel let out a yelp as her finger went back inside him. Arianne grabbed his cock and began to stroke.

“Let me show you a neat little trick.” She flexed her finger and pressed it against something inside him. Something he’d never known was there, but that made him feel so good he could swear he was on some sort of drug. He moaned in shocked, blinded pleasure as his body tensed up and lost its strength at the same time. Two or three quick pumps of his cock and he could feel his come dribbling down onto her hand. “Isn’t that cool?”

Before he could even process what had just happened, Arianne had her pants around her ankles.

“No, please,” Lancel begged. “Please, you’ve made your point.”

“I haven’t even begun to make my point.” With that, she climbed onto the table, placed a knee on either side of his head, and hovered over his face. Lancel could smell her; musk mixed with sweat. He could feel the heat of her body, just above his nose and mouth, so close he could almost taste her.

“Have you ever done this before?” Arianne asked as she loomed above, grinning, already knowing the answer. Lancel shook his head, confirming her suspicion. “Good, then you don’t have other women to forget.”

She relaxed her knees and eased herself down over his mouth, pressing her mound against his nose. With his mouth covered, Lancel inhaled on instinct, yielding him a nose full of pubic hair. He coughed. Arianne giggled. “Did you think it would smell like fresh-baked cookies?”

Lancel shook his head again and managed to squeeze a “no,” straight out of his lips and into hers. “No…”

With that, she rolled her hips back, then forward again, overrunning his nose until it was between her lips, catching his tongue out in the open. He coughed again.

“Did you think it would _taste_ like cookies?”

In truth, Lancel had no idea what it would taste like. The few times he’d ever been with a woman, he’d avoided that like the plague. _Not cookies, then._ He shook his head again.

“Good,” Arianne smiled. “But it will by the time I’m done with you.” She gave him another thrust of her hips. “I’m going to turn you into my little Cookie Monster.” And another. “Now put your tongue out, and _lick._ ”

If the plan was to stay there until it tasted like cookies, Lancel suspected he’d be at this a long time. It tasted as it smelled; musky, sweaty, and acidic, the sort of taste that reminded him that she was only human, and so was he.

He licked as he was told, slowly and timidly, hoping her juices would bypass his tongue on the way down his throat. But there were a lot of them, and precious little patience on the part of his captor.

Arianne rolled her hips backward, then paused with her clit hanging over his mouth. “Lick it.”

Lancel had seen this in porn, before he understood what a sin it was. Two blondes with massive tits; one bombarding the other’s clit with the tip of her tongue, like [Floyd Mayweather rolling punches against a speed bag](https://youtu.be/U8ppqcG3Vak?t=57s). So he did his best to imitate.

But apparently, his imitation was poor. Arianne picked herself up and inched backward, just enough to slap him in the face. “ _Slowly._ Do you have somewhere to be?”

Eyes wide with fear, Lancel shook his head. He could think of many other places he could be, but none of it seemed to matter.

“Good.” She lowered herself back onto his face. “Try again.”

Clueless, but with no choice, he began to lick slower. At first, he was forcing himself, fighting the urge to speed up and get it over with. But then she moaned and rocked her hips. It was a sound he’d never quite heard before. _Pleasure._ A different kind of pleasure; one he’d never heard in all the times he’d spent flopping around on top of various women. _Real pleasure._ Lancel knew the clitoris existed, and that men who could ‘find’ it made good lovers, but he’d never been invested enough in becoming a ladies’ man to risk his nostrils and taste buds in the hunt. _I was never good at picking investments._

On top, Arianne’s investment in Lancel’s face seemed to be paying dividends. She had her neck craned back and her shirt unbuttoned, squeezing her breasts together, lost in her own bliss. A disturbing idea suddenly came to his mind. _Put your lips around it._ Before he could figure out where that had come from, he did.

“Fuck,” Arianne responded through quick, shallow breaths, followed by something in Spanish. Lancel flattened his tongue and dragged it slowly against her clit, yielding another long, quivering moan. “Yes, like that, Cookie Monster.”

The motion left him with an inescapable mouthful of wetness that tasted no different from before, but Lancel didn’t care. _You should really care,_ he thought. _If you like this, you’re sinning as much as her._ That sounded like God’s opinion on the matter. _Or maybe He’s trying to help you through it._

For some reason, he desperately hoped the latter was true. _Because you won’t stop liking it, sin or not._ He couldn’t be sure whether his own saliva had diluted the taste, or if he was simply growing accustomed to it, but Lancel didn’t mind the next stroke of his tongue, nice and slow like she wanted.

“Yes, good, Cookie Monster,” Arianne purred as her hips sped up. _Stop calling me that._ But he didn’t quite care enough to stop her. “Now suck it.” _Why am I okay with this?_

So he sucked. Arianne’s hips sped up, and her moans intensified, boiling over into screams. Lancel felt her pressing down harder on his face, gripping his hair, but simply didn’t care. Making this woman feel the way she did made up for all of it, in an odd mix of adoration and pride deep inside him, like he’d never felt before.

_Go faster. Keep up with her._ He knew it intuitively. The quicker he lapped, the more crazed with pleasure Arianne seemed to become. He flicked her clit with the tip of his tongue, then rolled it around until he found the spot that seemed to please her the most and stayed there. When it began to pulse, he took his tongue away for half a second and sucked hard, then flicked it again.

“ _Sí, sí, sí!_ ” Arianne screamed, followed by another string of Spanish. “Suck that clit like a good Cookie Monster! You know you--”

Whatever she was going to say next was overcome by one long grunt, followed by frantic screaming. Her clit began to spasm, and Lancel found himself chasing it with his tongue like it was trying to run away. Warmth and wetness filled his mouth and coated his face. _Mmm._ Arianne’s screams were deafening as she hit her peak, tense thighs around his ears notwithstanding. But those thighs soon relaxed, and Lancel gulped down a full breath of air, not sure when he’d last had one.

Arianne dismounted, but instead of pulling her pants up, she simply collapsed into the chair between Lancel’s legs, slowly catching her breath and eyeing his cock. “I want to ride that too, Cookie Monster,” she informed him.

Cookie Monster himself was too dazed to say anything. He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but the dead weight of his legs dangling off the table made him slip toward the edge. Just as he was about to fall, she picked him up and began lightly stroking his cock, but it was too soon, and nothing happened. Arianne picked up her clipboard that had fallen off the table, pulled out the stack of forms, and rolled them up. Lancel watched as she made her way back in front of him and tapped her weapon menacingly into her open palm.

The blow came just as Lancel was starting to think it never would. Unbearable pain landed on his cock at nearly the same time, sharp and dull at once.

“ _OW!_ ” Lancel recoiled, the strange bliss dissipating instantly.

“Get hard!”

Lancel groaned and rolled to one side, trying to shield himself with his thigh, but Arianne simply spread his knees apart and hit him again.

“I said, get hard!”

“Jesus!” It was a curse, not a prayer. “What is _wrong_ with you?!”

And again. “Get your little cock hard, Cookie Monster!”

“That’s not helping!”

“I’ll decide what’s helping, silly man.” She took a picture on her phone, sat between his legs and slapped his cock with her bare hand, then gave it a quick kiss on the head. “Now get hard, or I’ll call Mexico City and tell them Lancel Lannister snuck into the country, admitted the conspiracy, then tried to rape me.”

_Tell them the truth._ But even Lancel realized how ridiculous that was. “Okay, okay, I’ll try!” He looked down to find her sliding a finger dangerously close to his ass.

“Should I put my finger up there again?” She hit him again with her free hand, though not as hard.

To his dismay, Lancel felt a twitch. _What has this woman done to me?_ Arianne giggled and took his semi-hard, still-stinging cock into her mouth. _Oh, God._

“You like being my little Cookie Monster, don’t you?” She teased him, after a few seconds of torture with her tongue.

Lancel only groaned, trying weakly to manage a nod, but his cock answered for him, standing up on its own for the first time.

“Mmmmm.” She took him back into her mouth, sucked for a few more seconds, and he was ready.

With that, she mounted him and took him quickly inside her; fast enough that the pleasure overwhelmed his will to fight. Lancel found himself wanting to hold her hips and feel them rolling on top of him, but his cuffs prevented it. _How does she do that?_

Arianne looked down, slapped him, and spat in his face. “You’re the biggest fraud I ever met, you know.”

_I know._ Were Lancel genuinely fit to lead a rebel army, his willpower would be stronger than she’d just proven it to be.

Without waiting for a response, Arianne continued. “Your religion is a fraud. A big lie a pedophile made up to build himself a harem.” She gradually sped up. “ _All_ religion is a fraud. Pedophiles, con artists, and crazy people who think they have magic powers and want to control everyone.” She hit him again. “And you try to kill the one woman with the decency to admit that God has nothing to do with it.” _It’s true,_ though he wasn’t quite ready to admit it. _She hasn’t been fucking you long enough._

Lancel looked up, his breath beginning to escape him. “Do you work for her?”

Arianne scoffed. “If I worked for her, you’d be on a plane to Washington by now.”

“Do you believe in her?” He’d always been curious to meet someone who did.

“It’s not that simple, Cookie Monster. She’s never made a claim on Mexico, but we have enough people running around with guns here already. I don’t want any more violence for my country, but maybe yours needed a little. But I’m not an American. I don’t know what’s good for everyone else all the time.”

“Then why bother with all of this?”

“Because it feels good! When was the last time you did something because it feels good, Cookie Monster? Or has everything you’ve ever done been out of duty to someone else? To your family, or your made-up God?”

Lancel tried but failed to muster a protest. Every time he’d ever done something that felt good, he’d wound up repenting for it.

“You know what else feels good, Cookie Monster? This.” She smacked him across the face. “That, and telling the truth.” She hit him again. “So tell the truth. You’re a fraud. Say it!”

“I am not a fraud!” The protest came easier this time, though the evidence was conspicuously absent.

Arianne sighed, half in pleasure and half in frustration, and hit him a third time. “ _Say it,_ Cookie Monster!”

“No!” _If I am, what am I supposed to do after this? Go home and pretend none of this ever happened?_

Slaps to the face having apparently proven useless, Arianne slid her hands down and pinched his nipples between her fingernails, twisting and tugging, then slammed her weight forward and pinned him against the table.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, _OW!_ Fine!” Lancel squealed. “I’m a fraud! I’m a fraud!” Tears started flowing again, more heavily this time.

“Your God is a fraud, your movement is a fraud, and if you ever took power, you’d do all the horrible things she does to stay there, wouldn’t you?” She twisted harder. Lancel writhed in blinding pain, convinced she was going to rip them right off. “ _Wouldn’t you?!_ ”

Lancel had never really thought about what he’d do if he ever took power, in fact, it hadn’t even occurred to him until then that power was the goal. _But it has to be. The country won’t run itself._ The thought terrified him, and he scrambled through the pain to come up with a governing agenda.

Bored of pinching, Arianne went back to bitch-slapping. “Answer me, Cookie Monster!”

If he ever did take power, he’d owe it to the Fundamentalist Mormon Church. They had a governing agenda, for sure, and they’d insist on implementing it. That would infuriate most of the country, who still regarded them as a cult of pedophiles. Those loyal to Daenerys, and to freedom of religion for those they approved of, would fight back. No longer the underdog, they could no longer gain the moral high ground through nonviolent resistance, so bloodshed was the only answer. _She’s right._

“Yes!” He screamed. “Yes, we’d be just as bad as her!”

She finally released his nipples, then moved her hands up to his neck, pressing her thumbs into his windpipe and leaning forward, riding him faster. “I should tell you to stop it all. To disband your army and confess to everything. But I’m not going to do that. That’s not punishment. Punishment is when you know you’re living a lie, but you’re trapped in it anyway. So go on, lead your little cult. Fight your little war.” She spat in his face. “Show everyone how righteous and moral you are. But remember what I did to you. Remember what you told me, and remember it’s the truth. Win or lose, I’ll be watching you, and laughing.”

Lancel could feel the pleasure building inside him yet again. A breathless “please” passed through his constricted throat and floated weakly past his lips, but he couldn’t say what he was begging for. _Air? Mercy?_ “Please, please, please.”

Arianne looked down at him, almost bored. “You want to come, don’t you, Cookie Monster? Is that it?”

The words scrambled his mind, and he nodded before he could gain his wits back. _You want that as bad as air and mercy,_ he realized. _She’s fucked Heavenly Father’s light out of you._

She took her hands off his throat, hit him again, and leaned forward. “Beg.”

“Please, let me come.” He was getting closer by the second; close enough that it soon wouldn’t matter if he had her permission or not. Lancel knew that if he thought the right thoughts and tried hard enough, he could do it in an instant. Part of him wanted to, to spite her, but the greater part of him held back with all its strength. _Not without her permission._

Woefully unsatisfied, she spat in his face again. “That was the shittiest begging I’ve ever seen.”

“Please, just let me come, _please._ I’m a fraud, just like you said. I’ll remember it. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, please just let me come.” Lancel closed his eyes and listened to Arianne’s moans and the rocking of the table. He felt the friction of her pussy on his cock, hot and tight, fast and deep and manic. He felt himself throbbing inside her, and his fingers clenching into fists behind his back. His balls started aching, and his hips began to thrust upward uncontrollably, guided only by her rhythm. “Please, I mean it, I’ll be good, I’m so close, _please!_ ” He felt himself hurtling toward the precipice. Then, inexplicably, he felt nothing.

_Oh, God, you stopped, you sick bitch._ That was as torturous as anything else she’d done to him.

Arianne laughed, dismounted, then grabbed his hand and dropped it onto his still-throbbing cock. “Finish yourself.”

Lancel froze, stunned.

“I don’t want your pasty, lanky Lannister baby inside me. _Finish!_ ”

“But--”

She zipped her pants up and sat in the chair directly between his legs. “If you don’t want to finish, you can go. I’ll pretend this never happened, as I promised. But you’re not going to do that, are you?”

Part of him desperately wanted to, but that part crumbled under the weight of the Cookie Monster inside him.

“You enjoyed this too much.” Arianne grabbed his limp-wristed hand and tossed it onto his still-throbbing cock. “Show me how much you enjoyed it.”

Still stunned, but grateful for the opportunity to show her, Lancel began to slowly stroke his cock.

“Faster, Cookie Monster,” Arianne commanded him. “Put on a little show for me.”

So he did. The show seemed to last forever, as his body had stepped back from the edge, and Cookie Monster lamented that his hand could never be as soft and wet as the inside of a woman.

“Oh, no,” she teased, “is Cookie Monster too chafed and raw to come for me?”

Lancel groaned and nodded, though his right hand was still determined to make it happen.

“Do you want me to help?”

Assuming the help would come in the form of a blow job, he nodded more firmly.

“I know what will help you, Cookie Monster.”

Arianne leaned forward and smiled up at him, pushing his hand away and replacing it with her own. Lancel closed his eyes and tilted his head back, expecting to feel her mouth on him at any moment.

But he never did. Instead came a deafening crash of metal on concrete. Lancel’s eyes flew open to find Arianne leaning over him, having kicked out the chair behind her. Before he understood what was happening, her gun was drawn and pointed right between his eyes as she teased the head of his cock blindly with the thumb of her other hand.

“ _COME RIGHT NOW, OR DIE ON THIS TABLE!_ ”

Lancel screamed, and for a second, he wasn’t sure if he was having an orgasm or going to Heaven. All he could see was a blinding flash, and all he could feel was bliss. Only when he felt the beads of hot, sticky moisture on his stomach did he realize he was still quite far from heaven. He opened his eyes to find Arianne putting her gun away.

“Nothing makes a man come like fear for his life. Except maybe a finger up the butt.” She giggled, then held her hand out. “Come on, Cookie Monster. I’m done with you. Really.”

He grabbed her hand, and she pulled him to his feet.

“Now get dressed and go. I’ll pretend this never happened, like you pretend all your wars and murders are part of your Heavenly Father’s plan.”

An hour later, after making up a lie about bribing her, Lancel and his brethren were on their way south toward their compound near San Javier.

Six hours after that, they entered the compound to find it running like a well-oiled machine. Guards were posted at the gates and all along the main road leading to the central buildings. Men drilled in the courtyard. Others labored away in barns on makeshift drones. But they all stopped and cheered when they realized who was in the car. One man grabbed Daenerys’s flag—thirteen red and white stripes with a red dragon on a black background where the stars used to be—and laid it on the ground as a welcome mat for their returning hero. _Lancel ‘Cookie Monster’ Lannister, the biggest fraud they’ve ever met._

But before he could even get out of the car, his phone rang. _Blocked number._ It could have been anyone, even Daenerys herself. _Don’t hide._ He accepted the call.

“Hello?”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” The voice scolded him like a teenager who’d just totaled his brand new BMW.

The caller ID was blocked, but the voice was familiar. “Tyrion?!”

“Tyrion?!” Tyrion repeated in his retard voice. “Yes, it’s Tyrion. Do you have any idea what it takes to get a burner phone in this country that doesn’t come pre-bugged? Let me ask you again. Are. You. _Nuts?!_ ”

_That was quick._ “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lancel lied.

Tyrion didn’t even bother extracting a confession. “We know it was you, dumbass. Varys is on his way to the White House to tell her. And knowing her, she’ll want to send the mother of all goon squads after you and your little army of child sex traffickers.”

“There’s nothing she can do to me that Heavenly Father can’t—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, she eats Heavenly Fathers like yours for breakfast. She makes Julius Caesar look like a tin-pot dictator.”

_Exactly._ “And how did things end for Caesar?”

“How would things have ended for Cassius if those senators had just grazed his arm?”

_Fair point._ “You’re not supposed to be talking to me,” Lancel realized out loud. Tyrion let the tense silence speak for itself. “Why do you even care what happens to me? You're hers now.”

Tyrion sighed. “Because you're family, and oddly enough, that matters to me. You had enough sense to go to Mexico, which means _maybe_ I can persuade her husband to persuade her to hold off for a while. But if you’re smart, you’ll assume that won’t happen. Keep going south before the drones catch up to you. Way down south, to the Amazon Rainforest. Then face-fuck an anaconda. It will be far more pleasant than whatever she’s got in mind for you.”

“That’s your advice to your cousin? Defile a snake?”

“No, you idiot, I don’t have any advice for you! That’s treason! Do you understand the game I’m playing here?”

_This has to be some kind of trick._ Lancel paused, listening for helicopters or gunfire in the distance, but heard nothing. “Is this because you got passed over for Hand of the Queen?” That sounded more like Tyrion than ‘you’re family, and that matters to me.’

“Maybe,” he sort of admitted, “but you’re not entirely wrong about her. So if you’re going to do this, do it right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't catch it, "Elder Pryce" is a reference to the musical _The Book of Mormon_ , and to Jonathan Pryce, who of course played the High Sparrow


	15. Daenerys VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update. I had a bad case of writer's block and some life stuff to deal with. Enjoy :)

_Ah, there he is._ Dany looked up from her desk in the Oval Office, peering over her glasses as Bronn sheepishly entered the room. She wore a blazer over a t-shirt, and jeans with cute crystal-studded Gucci [ ankle boots](https://imgur.com/b3IMvqo), in keeping with her ‘I’m The Fucking Queen, I wear what I want’ philosophy. It had been two weeks since the shooting, and Dany had put Bronn on administrative leave while she decided what to do with him. Her shoulder was better, but not fully recovered, though the doctors said it would only be a few more weeks before she could quit the Aleve and regain her full range of movement.

Dany cleared her throat as Bronn sat in front of her, then began. “Do I not pay you enough?”

Bronn was smart enough to know this was not the time to ask for a raise. “Um, no, you pay me pretty damn well.”

“And do I not indulge your asinine idiosyncrasies?”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

She sighed. “On the day I was shot, you took off work to observe the Jewish Sabbath.”

“And that’s my real ethnicity!” Bronn was keen to make that clear.

Dany slid a piece of paper across the desk. “Explain.”

Bronn saw the American Express logo in the top right corner. “Ah, shit.”

To demonstrate her commitment to preserving the private sector, and to plausibly deny claims that her international employees were ‘spies’ for the American government, Dany had elected not to merge her weapons business into the apparatus of the State. Instead, Targaryen Security Solutions™ remained a standard global conglomerate that she simply ran in her spare time. And like any good global conglomerate, hers paid its corporate Amex bill, which included a two-thousand dollar charge to Bronn's card the night before she was shot, at a strip club in Baltimore called Scores.Dany raised an eyebrow. “Forgive my ignorance, but I didn’t realize the traditional Shabbat dinner involved making it clap.” _And I’ll forgive your ignorance for thinking I don’t look at the statements._

Bronn scratched the back of his head nervously. “Um, okay, listen, that was--”

“Oddly enough,” Dany talked over him, “I enjoy what an asshole you are. But we're on the brink of a civil war, and you’re obviously not capable of protecting me on your own. So I’ve hired a second guard.”

From a side entrance came the Secret Service’s newest hire, a towering hulk of a man in full riot gear, whose face looked remarkably like a botched Thanksgiving turkey. “This is Sandor Clegane. I’m told people call him the Hound, for some reason.”

Bronn sized him up, pretending to hide his fear. “Well, he reeks of cigarettes, so it’s probably not his sense of smell.”Sandor shook his head. “I’m shit at smelling.”

“You should try vaping, then,” Bronn suggested. “Lots of people consider it a satisfying alternative to--”

Sandor punched him in the face and knocked him clean out of his chair, then sat in the chair next to him. “Lots of cunts.”

 _Ha!_ Dany stood and leaned over her desk, smiling down at Bronn as he rolled around on the floor. “We’ll do a team-building exercise at the corporate retreat in August. Until then, his standing orders are to do things like that to you whenever he deems appropriate.” She turned to Sandor. “You don’t take off for Jewish holidays, do you?”

“Fuck that,” the Hound scoffed. “I haven’t been to temple since my bar mitzvah.”

“Excellent. What’s next?” She asked Sandor.

“Bronx,” he replied flatly. By that, he meant a shelter for survivors of domestic violence in the South Bronx neighborhood of New York. Not only was it a chance to look empathetic as fuck in front of the cameras, it was also a place where Dany genuinely tried to do some good. _You’ve done so much bad; you can at least make up for some of it._ She’d been having more of those thoughts recently.

“Ah, yes. Let’s go.”

It was a quick plane ride from DC to New York, but the South Bronx felt like a different planet. Wearing the same outfit plus her crown, Dany opened her limo’s door herself and made straight for the front door of the shelter, striding through the horde of reporters on the sidewalk and ignoring whatever questions they barked at her. Inside, she greeted the staff and was led to the cafeteria, where the tables had been removed and the chairs arranged in a large circle. As she stood in the center, twenty women or so entered from the other side of the room. The first one moved sheepishly to take a knee and kiss her hand, but Dany politely waved her off and motioned for her to sit.

“Is this everyone?” Dany asked the shelter’s director, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“No, Your Majesty. We chose a handful we thought you’d--”

“Bring in everyone.”

The director hesitated. “I’m not sure they’ll fit with all the reporters.”

Dany turned to the press. “I’m here to meet these brave women, not to have my picture taken.” _That’s mostly true._ She pointed to the door. “All of you except the _New York Times_ and the _Wall Street Journal_ , leave.”

The press filed out save for two reporters and photographers, and the women filed in; about thirty more in total. Some were shy, some were confused as to why they were there, and some stared at Dany, eyeing this rich white lady curiously, and with a healthy bit of skepticism. Dany insisted that the staff bring in a chair for everyone and expanded the circle until it could barely fit in the room, refusing to sit until all the women could.

Dany found herself getting angrier with every story the women told, though many of them were almost exactly the same. Their partners would come home every night drunk or high; belligerent for no reason. Some were enraged over imagined affairs or arbitrary transgressions. They’d all apologize and promise to change, yet none of them ever did. _How could a human being do this to another?_

Then came the voice, faint at first. _You’ve done much, much worse._ Dany tried to pretend she didn’t hear it. _And it felt damn good, didn’t it?_ She tried harder, but it refused to be tuned out.

 _But that was all terrible,_ her good side countered. _I’m terrible. I’m a fraud. I have a child, now. I can’t go on like this._

But the dragon persisted. _You’re not those men, and they’re not you. They’re average. Common. Human. You’re more than that. And their demons are nothing compared to yours._ The longer it went on, the louder the voice got. _Rape someone tonight. You know you want to._

Dany silently begged herself to stop. It had been too long. She was a mother. She was obsessed over in the press. She’d gone to such lengths to craft an image of herself as the savior of the vulnerable and oppressed. She had enemies, sure, but they were in hiding thousands of miles away. She _couldn’t_ unleash herself on the innocent, and she couldn’t allow her urges to surface in this of all places. _Not here. Please, not here._

But as she listened to the stories of the senseless beatings and torture, the dragon only laughed at her. _Listen to yourself. You're pathetic. Since when do dragons beg for mercy?_ She could feel a lump growing in her throat. _When will you learn to stop fighting your nature?_

Conveniently, her tears started welling up just as the last woman was finishing her story. Dany walked across the circle to hug her, and the woman burst into tears, melting into dead weight in her arms. _Maybe if I hold her, I’ll get my humanity back._ Tears began to stream down her cheeks, and the two photographers in the room snapped furiously. _This is a great shot,_ the cynical side of her thought, though she wasn’t crying for the reasons they assumed.

Dany helped the woman back into her seat, moved into the center of the circle, and composed herself. “Those were compelling stories, every one of them,” she began. “And they all deserve to be heard. But for a woman in my position, it’s not enough to merely listen and move on. So to help you recover, I’m imprisoning your abusers for life, seizing their homes, and giving them to you. My government will pay for your rent and mortgages, and you’ll be exempt from property taxes for life.” The whole room gasped at once. “Further, any of you who need a job will be trained for one in my government.” Some of the women shrieked. Others started clapping. Others just sat there, slack-jawed. “Tomorrow morning I’ll issue a royal decree making this the policy throughout my empire for anyone whose partner is convicted of domestic violence.”

“Can I hug you too?” One of the women asked.

“Of course,” Dany smiled, waving to the rest of the group. “All of you, come here, don’t be shy.”

The reporters ate that shit up, as was the plan. But the dragon was unimpressed. _You didn’t get here by playing Santa Claus,_ it reminded her. _You got here by playing God. The Old Testament God. The cruel, vengeful, unforgiving God. The God who flooded the earth and destroyed cities because he felt like it._ The dragon stopped speaking and turned into something worse. A fire inside her, sending her heart racing, and she knew she’d lost.

Missandei met Dany outside and immediately fell in abreast of her, tapping away on her iPhone, not even bothering to greet her. “Alright, Your Majesty, it’s back to DC for your Anderson Cooper interview. He’s--”

Dany put her hand up to cut her off. “No.” She reached her limo, where Sandor awaited, holding the door open. “Take me to Greenwich. Summon my husband and Lord Tyrion Lannister. Tell them I’d like a private strategy session on Iraq. Jon will know what that means.”

It shut down the busiest highway on the east coast with no warning, but the drive to Greenwich took about a half hour. Once home, Dany shat, showered, shaved her legs and pussy, and met her husband in the bedroom.

“Where’s Lord Tyrion?”

“Downstairs.” Jon cracked a smile. “Way downstairs. I figured you’d want him there.”

Dany kissed him on the cheek. “Is he ready?”

“He looks like a piñata.”

 _Aww, how sweet._ She smiled. “Good boy. Now strip.”

Jon obeyed eagerly, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside, then wiggling out of his pants. Dany pushed him back onto the bed and finished for him, sliding his boxers down to his ankles. She knelt between his legs, took his cock into her hands, and kissed the swelling head.

“I’m feeling it again,” she told him. “Bad.”

Jon nodded, too overcome by pleasure to speak. “Uh huh.” He purred softly as Dany flicked the head with the tip of her tongue, then ran it up his shaft.

“I need to feed it. And you’re going to help me.”

Without responding, Jon grabbed the back of Dany’s head and guided her mouth onto his cock. _Someone wants a treat_ . She went along with it, sealing her lips around him and sucking hard, pressing her tongue against it and dragging it up and down as she felt him sliding deeper toward the back of her throat. Feeling herself getting wet, she moaned onto it, setting Jon’s hips to grinding. _That’s it. Fuck my mouth, you brainwashed little puppet._

Mindlessly, Dany slid one hand between her legs, rubbing slowly as her wetness accumulated on her fingers, holding the base of Jon’s cock with her other hand. Jon gripped her hair tighter. Knowing what that meant, Dany sucked harder, moving her head faster as Jon’s cock grew rock-hard and throbbed in her mouth.

She stopped and smiled up at him. “You _are_ going to help me, right?”

Jon writhed and moaned. “Anything. You know I’m yours.”

 _Good answer. The only answer._ Not bothering to respond, Dany went back to work, rubbing faster sucking harder, breathing quick and shallow. _Fuck yes, you’re going to help me._ What else could he do? His free will was hers alone, and he’d come to forget when it was any other way.

As her hand grew slick, Dany found her capacity for restraint slipping away. _I need him in me._ She stood and snapped her fingers, pointing toward the headboard. Jon squirmed backward, allowing her to mount him and take him slowly inside her. They both moaned in unison as Dany began to rock her hips, rubbing her clit as they built a slow but purposeful rhythm.

“I love you.” She looked down into his eyes. “You know that, right?” Admittedly, it could be hard to tell sometimes.

But Jon nodded like a good boy, and whispered back, “I love you too.” _Good._ It didn’t matter _why_ he loved her, or how he came to do so. All that mattered was that he did.

Dany slid a hand back between her legs and began to massage her clit again, as Jon’s cock throbbed inside her. _Quickly._ She worked herself faster and pinched a nipple with the other hand, twisting and tugging until the pain intoxicated her.

Jon reached down and smacked her ass as she rode him, both cheeks at the same time. _Yes, hit me, just like that._ She leaned forward, still rubbing her clit, and kissed him deep on the mouth, dragging the nails of her free hand down his chest. His writhing, pained moans made her moan back into the kiss, her breath more labored and desperate as her clit started to throb beneath her hand.

She sat upright just as Jon began to throb as well, and rubbed faster. _Quickly!_ Her body heard her and obeyed her command. She slammed her weight down onto Jon’s cock and screamed, thrusting her hips wildly enough to damn near rip his cock off. Her pussy clenched around his cock for dear life, refusing to let it go. _Take what’s yours._ Her head flew back, and she screamed again, louder and with a higher pitch. Then it came, tensing her whole body, locking her eyes shut, sending her hand into a fury against her clit and drenching Jon’s cock with her come.

Thoroughly satisfied, she leaned back down, kissing him again and whispering into his ear. “You want to come too?”

“Yes,” Jon whispered back. “Yes. Please.”

Dany smiled down at him and sped up, watching his face contort. Then, just before his point of no return, she immediately stopped and smacked him in the face. “No.”

She dismounted, smiling as Jon’s eyes followed her, his face enraged and adorably sad once. “Not yet, anyway. Now put my toy away and dress. And bring your rifle. It’s time to feed the dragon.”

Hand in hand, they descended the stairs to the rape room. Dany wore one of her sexier [ little black dresses ](https://imgur.com/UKwiA14) sans panties, the [ boots ](https://imgur.com/A6ZMbXq) she wore for torture, and an alligator skin handbag that cost about as much as a nicely appointed Volvo. Jon wore his best suit, an M16 rifle strapped to his back and carrying a canvas [ folding chair](https://imgur.com/a/xKj9ETt). Lord Tyrion awaited them naked, arms bound behind his back, and dangling from a rope. _He does look like a pi_ _ñata_ . Dobermans circled below him, sniffing and nipping at his feet. _Maybe they smell candy inside._ Dany whistled and pointed to the door, and the dogs filed out and up the stairs. She and her thoroughly brainwashed husband made their way to the center of the room. Jon set up the folding chair in front of Tyrion.

As Jon made his way to the edge of the room, Dany sat delicately and crossed her legs, smiling up at her victim. “In case you haven’t figured it out, this isn’t a strategy session on Iraq.”

Tyrion flailed a bit. “Why am I here?”

“Your cousin tried to kill me.” That was a fact, but not the reason he was there. Dany had no evidence that Tyrion was remotely involved in Lancel’s plot, and it seemed unlikely to her that he was. Still, he was one of the few advisors of hers who had yet to witness first hand what she was truly capable of, and was long overdue for a lesson.

“And why does he have a gun?”

“They shot me in my whipping arm, and I’m afraid it hasn’t fully recovered yet. But sometimes it’s fun to switch things up, isn’t it?”

“Listen,” Tyrion pleaded. “Listen, listen, listen. I had nothing to do with any of this, I swear.”

“Maybe I believe you. You did help me overthrow your sister, after all.”

Tyrion breathed a loud sigh of relief. “See? And who cares about cousins? Do you? I don’t.”

“Did you know he was capable of this?”

“No. Really, I didn’t. He was never violent. He was a pussy!”

Dany laughed. “If you think pussies can’t be violent, you haven’t met mine.” With that, she put one leg up on the arm of the folding chair, revealing herself to him. She slid a finger between her lower lips, then ran it slowly up to her clit and massaged it lightly. The pleasure made her close her eyes for a moment, but she refocused herself.

Tyrion, being a red-blooded man, fixated on the display for a moment before shaking himself off. “You don’t have to do this,” he insisted desperately. “Let me go. Please. I won’t say anything to anyone. I know what you do to people who cross you; you don’t have to do it to me.”

“You’re wrong, dear. I do have to do this.” _But not for the reason you think._ The dragon had won over her willpower long ago; now it simply clawed at her from the inside, shredding the parts of her that had tried to fight it.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know about Lancel. I’ll find him for you. I’ll put a bullet in his head myself. Just don’t shoot me, _please_ , don’t shoot me.”

Dany sighed. “Fiiiiiine.” She turned to Jon behind her back at the edge of the room. “Don’t shoot him.”

“ _Thank you._ You won’t regret this, I promise.”

A smile grew on her face as she looked up at her captive, dangling there, his face full of relief. She began to rub her clit more firmly, then turned back to Jon. “Actually, just kidding, shoot him!”

Jon put the rifle to his shoulder, aimed, and fired, all in one seamless, beautiful motion. Tyrion thrashed as if that would help, then screamed as the bullet hit him in the lower abdomen. _Louder, bitch!_ He looked down, plainly expecting to see blood, but all he got was a nasty welt.

Dany felt her heart beat faster and her pussy soak itself. “You didn’t think I’d shoot to kill, did you?” She giggled. “Doing that to an advisor is a bit Stalinesque, even for me. Rubber bullets, on the other hand...at that range, he could pelt you with those all day.” This time, she didn’t bother turning around, choosing instead to simply shout. “Shoot him again!” The next one hit Tyrion right in the breastbone. _Fuck yes, that’s it, scream!_ “Again!”

Jon fired again, hitting him just above the belly button, then took it upon himself to shoot one more round, dangerously close to his cock. _That’s my boy._

As Dany masturbated, the dragon spoke to her again. _He’s so little. Easy prey._ That made her clit pulse, and her hips grind subconsciously. _He’s innocent, too, because you’re above morality._ She moaned. _He’s an advisor, and he’ll never question you again. You’re one step closer to absolute power._ That was, after all, what she really wanted; hugging battered women and smiling for the cameras were all mere means to that end. _And so is this._

Stupidly and unsuccessfully, Tyrion tried to dodge the next bullet. That earned him three more rounds in rapid succession. “We’re not done with you,” Jon warned him. _Ugh, he said ‘we,’ that’s fucking adorable._ That sent her rummaging through her bag for the [ Black Dread](https://www.tantusinc.com/products/feeldoe-stout), and inserting it quickly into her well-lubricated cunt, head-first and vibrating.

Tyrion’s sobbing and pleading turned to background noise as Dany closed her eyes and threw her head back, stroking her g-spot with the vibrator as she once again worked her clit with her free hand. _No. Listen to him. Open your eyes and watch him suffer._ She opened them just in time to catch another bullet hit him in the face. _Yes, yes, yes!_ The dragon was right; it was beautiful. _Listen to him wail._ She could feel herself clenching around the Black Dread as it vibrated inside her, inching closer to the edge every time a bullet pelted Tyrion’s body.

Her eyes caught Tyrion's, and he shrank from them. Dany laughed. _You think you can run away from the dragon?_ She couldn’t run away from it herself, and she’d been trying since she was a teenager. Why should he be any different?

“Look at me!” Dany shouted, narrowing her eyes. “Look at what this does to me!” With that, she released herself, as Tyrion watched in horror. Her head flew back, and she let out a piercing scream, toes curling in her boots. Her pussy spasmed as her hand worked her clit furiously and her body shuddered, nipples rock-hard under her dress. Finally, she felt herself flowing onto the Black Dread, making it slippery inside her.

“Get him down,” she commanded her husband. Her face was still flush and her legs still dead weight; one was still draped over the arm of the chair. “Quickly.”

Jon threw the rifle over his shoulder and jogged forward. Dany handed him a hunting knife from her bag and watched as Jon cut the rope and let him fall to the floor.

“Keep him bound?”

“I don’t know, let’s see.” Dany stood and kicked Tyrion in the gut. He shook and grunted breathlessly. “Are you stupid enough try and fight us?” she asked over his screams.

He shook his head again. “ _No no no!_ ”

“Then free his arms.”

Jon rolled Tyrion onto his stomach and cut the rope that bound his arms, as Dany dispatched with her dress and inserted the bulbous of the Black Dread into her cunt. With the head and shaft still lubricated from her orgasm, she knelt between Tyrion’s legs and lined herself up to penetrate him.

Like an idiot, Tyrion tried to squirm away. Jon stopped him with a foot to the side of his face. “I thought you said you weren’t that stupid.”

 _Men never know how stupid they are until they get raped up the ass._ Dany turned the vibrator back on and unceremoniously pushed the Black Dread into his tight, terrified ass.

“Give her what she wants,” Jon warned him, “and she might not kill you.”

Whether Tyrion wanted to give it to her or not, Dany took what she wanted, yanking him backward until the full length of the vibrator was inside him. She smacked his ass, digging her nails in and pulling him closer, and began to thrust. _Mine, mine, mine. Feed the fucking beast._ Tyrion squealed, and Jon pressed his foot harder against his face.

“Did Jaime tell you what I did to him?!” Dany asked as he scratched helplessly against the floor. “Did you believe it?!” She gave him a hard, merciless thrust. “Do you believe it now?! Do you see how fucking _sick_ I am?!”

Tyrion responded only with a tortured moan.

Dany leaned forward and spoke straight into his ear, grunting as she thrust and the ribbed base of the Black Dread slid back and forth against her clit. “You don’t even want to know what I did to your father and sister,” she growled between grunts. “Even _you’d_ feel bad for them.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Tyrion once again swore. “I’m innocent!” He grunted and clenched his teeth as Dany began to pound away. “My cousin--”

Dany laughed. “You still think this is about your cousin?” She waved Jon’s foot away and spat onto the side of Tyrion’s face. “I don’t give a fuck about your cousin.” She put a hand between his shoulder blades and pressed him against the concrete, pulling him back, dragging his wounded, welted chest along the concrete floor. “I don’t give a fuck about _you,_ either. This is about me. You’re fodder, that’s all you are.”

The dragon inside her was feeding ravenously. _I told you,_ it gloated, _nothing feels better than this._ Dany had no choice but to agree. Her heart raced as she thrust faster. _You’ll never escape your demons. Fuck motherhood, fuck your morals, and fuck that silly little crown on your head. It’s all nothing compared to this. Rape this little bitch. Harder!_

So she did. Sweat started to form on her brow as she adjusted her angle and pushed Tyrion’s legs apart with her knees. Tyrion seethed. “Aww, am I hurting you?” _I hope so._ She looked up at Jon. “Get the vodka, darling.”

Jon went over to Dany’s handbag and retrieved a large bottle of vodka, as Dany flipped Tyrion onto his back. His chest and stomach were a mess of welts from the rubber bullets; scratch marked from being dragged against the floor during his rape. _Shit, that’s hot._ His skin was broken and bleeding all over. She slapped his cock as Jon returned with the vodka.

“Drizzle it,” Her Majesty commanded. Jon poured a liberal amount of vodka over the open wounds on Tyrion’s body. Dany scratched and pinched at the welts, drawing blood from a few of them. Tyrion screamed a high-pitch, piercing scream as the alcohol sunk into his wounds. Dany smacked him in the face. “There. There’s something to take your mind off the rape.”

Dany suddenly found herself on the verge of another orgasm. The dildo was like an extension of her body; each thrust stimulated her clit and pressed the bulbous end against her g-spot at the same time. She panted and screamed as her body began to quiver, pulling Tyrion against her like a rag doll. To push herself even closer, she ran her nails hard against his open wounds again, feeling her pussy twitch at his screams and cries and pleas for mercy.

The dragon consumed her. Wild screams escaped her body, dark and twisted, barely human. She looked up at Jon to find him wide-eyed, stepping backward subconscious fear. Her back straightened, then arched as she thrust harder, leaving herself deep inside him for a moment before pulling back. _Knock him up,_ the dragon commanded her. _Split his ass in half._

Everything around her turned red, and the world disappeared. The concrete floor had scraped her knees, but Dany couldn’t be bothered to care. Jon was only a few feet away but may as well have been on the moon. Even the dwarf she was impaling on her cock was nothing more than a set of hips in her hands that made her clit throb whenever she moved it. Nothing filled her mind but the rush, the power, the rage.

Her pussy clenched around the dildo and began to spasm again as her clit finally lost itself and drove her over the edge. _Yes, yes, yes, fuck yes!_ Her screams were all she could hear as her body went rigid and flew off the cliff. When the peak passed, she pulled out, tossed the Black Dread aside, and looked at Tyrion, curled in the fetal position on the floor. _More_ , the dragon insisted. _MORE!!_

“What, you’ve never been raped up the ass before?” Dany asked mockingly as she stood. “Relax, dear. My brother raped me up the ass plenty of times, and I turned out fine, wouldn’t you say?” She wished it wasn’t a cruel joke. _Too late now,_ the dragon reminded her. She turned to Jon. “Funnel and pills.”

Jon once again went to her bag, retrieved a funnel and a small bottle of Viagra, and handed it to his Queen.

“He’s having trouble coping, I think,” she joked. “Let’s give him some coping mechanisms.”

With that, Jon squatted over Tyrion and locked his jaw open. Tyrion thrashed back and forth like a dog trying to avoid getting its teeth brushed, but to no avail. Dany joined her husband, shoving the funnel down Tyrion’s throat and tossing in some pills, chasing them with more of the vodka.

“Cope, asshole!” Jon shouted.

Dany giggled. “What problems in your life  _can’t_ be solved with booze and a hard dick?! Come on! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Cope! Cope! Cope!”

Tyrion coughed up most of the pills. Jon rolled him onto his stomach, and Dany shoved his face to the floor.

“Lick it up,” Her Majesty commanded.

Jon held Tyrion’s legs down to stop him from flailing around. “She gave you an order!”

Clearly disgusted, Tyrion licked the pills off the floor one by one, forcing each one down his throat dry. Dany gave him one more chaser, then rolled him once more onto his back, getting down on all fours and pinning his shoulders to the floor with her elbows.

She looked up at Jon and smiled. “He needs some visual stimulation, I think. Get behind me.”

Jon smiled back and unbuckled his belt before he even started walking. His pants fell to his ankles as he walked, and before Dany realized it, he was rock-hard and lined up behind her, teasing her clit with the head of his cock.

“Go on, fuck me,” Dany said, already red in the face. “Finish what we started earlier.”

She closed her eyes as Jon entered her, then opened them and stared firmly down at her wide-eyed, bleeding captive.

“Why?” Tyrion asked through his sobbing as Jon began to thrust. “Why, what did I do, _why?!_ ”

 _Because I can. Because I need to. Because I can’t stop myself._ Dany spat in his face. “Shut the fuck up.”

Jon built his rhythm as Dany backed up against him, grinding her hips to take him deeper inside her. Dany moaned loud and deep, and moved her hands from Tyrion’s shoulders to his throat, pressing her thumbs around his windpipe just hard enough to scare him.

The game was obvious. “You’d better hope he finishes,” she smiled and pressed just a little bit harder. “Or you’re finished.”

Out of the blue, Jon spanked her ass, sending her eyes rolling into the back of her head. _Mmm, I’m a bad girl, aren’t I?_ She thought as she moaned in pleasure. She knew she was. _And I deserve way worse than that._

Dany slammed her weight backward, savoring the sound of Jon’s hips smacking against the fleshy part of her ass. “Fuck,” she panted. “Fuck. Shit. Fuck me!”

Jon grabbed her hips and pulled her against him harder, thrusting faster, grunting in exertion. The feeling of him throbbing inside her made Dany wrap her hands tighter around Tyrion’s throat. She spat in his face again and growled down at him. “Tell him to come in me,” she ordered him. “Like your _fucking_ life depends on it.”

“Come in her,” Tyrion squeaked. “Come in her, _please!_ ”

Jon snarled and thrust faster, ramming his cock into her mercilessly. Each thrust was more primal and reckless than the last, and Dany could feel him throbbing harder. She pressed her hands tighter around Tyrion’s neck; tight enough to make his face turn red.

“Yes!” Dany seconded between moans. “Do it!”

As if his whole body was trained to respond to her commands, Jon pulled her back again and erupted inside her, bursting into her cunt with each long, hard thrust. As soon as he finished, Dany released Tyrion’s throat, then kicked Jon away from her. She reached down and checked to make sure that Tyrion’s cock had hardened, then mounted him without warning and wrapped her hands back around his throat, just as he’d barely finished catching his breath.

“Your turn,” she smiled down at him. “You’re about to get the best pussy of your life, and you won’t even have to pay for it.”

 _Milk that fucking cock,_ the dragon commanded. In truth, Dany didn’t even find Tyrion attractive and certainly didn’t love him, but it wasn’t about that. It never was with men like Tyrion, or Kraznys, or Jaime. It was always about power, from beginning to end; absolute power over everything she knew to exist. _You won’t be satisfied with anything less._ Rape was simply one more form of conquest. A humiliation. A demonstration that she had more control over their bodies than they did, no matter how much she enraged or repulsed them; no matter how strong or secure in themselves they’d always felt.

Dany wasted no time starting slow or enjoying the feeling for its own sake. Her hips bounced wildly as she leaned down over him, pressing her forehead against his as her sweat dripped into his eyes. _Milk it, milk it, milk it._ She wanted nothing but to feel Tyrion lose himself and make his little mess inside her; to see the defeat on his face as she plundered his body for what she wanted. To his credit, Tyrion was still kicking his legs and trying to wiggle away, but it was futile and earned him nothing but a tighter squeeze to his throat. Tyrion was one of the few men she could physically overpower without having him tied down in advance, and Dany relished it. _Rape him like Viserys raped you._

She smacked him with one hand, then quickly returned it to his throat. “Take it,” she hissed at him. “Man up! _Take it!_ ” The kicking stopped, and the twitching and arm-grabbing began. Tyrion tried everything he could to pull his hands away, but Dany just kept on squeezing. _Turn purple, you little freak. Do it!_

Slowly, she began to get her wish. Every time Tyrion looked like he was about to pass out, she released him just enough for a few gasps of air before locking her hands back where they were. _Draw it out. Give him hope, then snatch it away from him._ Dany rode him faster, moaning from the power trip, and stared down into his eyes. “Come in me, or die trying,” she commanded. “Can you do it?”

Tyrion nodded and made a gurgling sound.

“Of course you can do it. You couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. This pussy’s too good, isn’t it? And that cock is _mine_ until I’m done with it.”

He nodded again, understanding he’d lost.

“That’s right. It is. You’re a slow learner, but you get it eventually. Now come. Come in this tight little pussy.”

Tyrion began to heave as Dany squeezed as tight as she could with her hands, and clenched as hard as she could with her cunt. He made a low vibrating sound that could only be a moan, followed by a grunting sound as his back arched. _Now!_

Finally, he gave in. Dany slammed herself down on his cock triumphantly, over and over as each burst flew into her. _Make your little mess, bitch._ She released her grip on his throat but kept him inside until he softened and slipped out.

Once it was over, she smiled down at him. “Well, now it’s just a big gooey mess up there.” She looked down, grin growing wider as she waited for him to process what that meant.

“Oh, no. Please, God, enough, no…” His speech was slurred from the vodka. “What do you even _want?!_ ”

“This,” Dany replied as she crawled forward and mounted his face, grabbing his hair in her fists. “Clean it the fuck up.”

Tyrion coughed, revolted as the mixture of him and Jon leaked into his mouth.

Dany pressed herself down on his face. “ _Clean it up,_ or we’ll play ‘Suffocate the Dwarf’ again.”

Reluctantly but in earnest, Tyrion slid his tongue between Dany’s lips and went to work. _That’s it. Worship this fucking pussy. Serve it. Fear it._ It was all she asked of any of her subjects.

Dany began to purr softly and grind her hips over Tyrion’s face, closing her eyes and enjoying the warm mouth beneath her and the wet tongue inside. Her cunt was sensitive, having just been fucked twice, but the rawness felt good. She pressed Tyrion’s head against the floor, moaning as she built her pace. Tyrion coughed, and Dany pushed down harder.

“Swallow it. Every last drop,” she commanded, wiggling back and forth on top of him. _Every. Last. Fucking. Drop. Don’t let him stop._ Tyrion was having obvious trouble breathing. _Since when does that matter?_ The cleaning itself didn’t take very long, as much of it had leaked onto her thigh before she’d even had the chance to mount his face. But as usual for her, the stated purpose was rarely the point.

Slowly, he got the hang of it, and Dany began to drag her clit against his tongue. Dany’s clit was the center of the universe as far as she was concerned, and she shifted a bit so he could focus on it. _Fuck yes._ The man had finally completed his journey from confusion and fear, to defiance, to involuntary surrender, to resigned but abject submission. Dany set off on another of her power trips. Each stroke of his tongue was another victory; proof of her supremacy; proof that the dragon was right. _More!_ She thrust back and forth; harder, faster, riding his face as wildly as she’d ridden his cock. Her clit started to throb, and she stared down into Tyrion’s eyes. “Suck it.”

In no position to defy her, Tyrion obeyed, sealing his lips around her clit and flicking his tongue against it as he sucked. _He just wants it to be over._ That made her laugh briefly until the pleasure distracted her. Her thighs locked his head in place as the edge got closer, hips thrusting on their own.

Nostrils flaring and teeth gritted, Dany hit her peak one last time. The world turned red again and the pleasure mixed with rage and catharsis at the same time. _Let it out,_ she thought, though she couldn’t tell if it was her or the dragon. _Let it all out, all over his face._ And she did. Lips swollen and clit raw, she came down for the last time, and the dragon was finally sated.

Still high on power, Dany stood and brushed herself clean. Jon found her dress on the floor and helped her step into it. Tyrion still lay on the floor, arms and legs spread out, gasping for breath.

“Now.” She stood over him and pressed her boot heel into his balls as Jon zipped up her dress from behind. “Are we going to tell anyone what happened here?”

Tyrion shook his head. “No.”

“And why not?”

“Because you’ll kill me.”

She dug her heel in harder and twisted. “Well, yes, but that’s the easy part for you. Try again.”

Tyrion seethed in pain. “Because you’ll torture me more?!”

She gave him a kick between the legs, then squatted over him as he curled into the fetal position and reeled. “Because there’s no point! No one will believe you. You’ll be one more lunatic with a wild tale to tell about the greatest leader this country has ever seen. A disgruntled employee who’s butt-hurt because I destroyed his sister and I’m going to rain hell down on his cousin the minute I find him. A lifelong whoremongering alcoholic and God knows what else, wandering the streets hat-in-hand, begging for a book deal. The only people who know what I am are my most loyal advisors. My grip on this country gets tighter every day, and the tighter it gets, the more ludicrous your story becomes. You’ll spend the rest of your life knowing it’s true, and so will I, but telling it will be like screaming into a void. _Do you understand me?!_ ”

“Yes, yes, I understand you!”

“Good.” She stood up and adjusted her dress. “Then I enjoyed our private strategy session. We had a very productive talk, and we both look forward to working together on new policies that will prove an even greater success for the Iraqi people.”

After cleaning herself up and ordering Tyrion flown straight back to Baghdad, Dany finally arrived in DC, hours later for her interview. Anderson Cooper awaited her in the Oval Office, looking impatient but resigned to the fact that the world revolved around Her Majesty’s schedule, not his. Cameras and two chairs had been set up in the middle of the room.

Cooper rose from one of them and shook Dany’s hand. “Your Majesty.”

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Anderson. Good to see you again.” Dany was still very much on her power trip but hid it well.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to air this until tomorrow,” he warned her. “It’s late, we won’t have time to edit it.”

Dany smiled. “Then as a wise man once said, ‘[fuck it](https://youtu.be/O_HyZ5aW76c), we’ll do it live.’”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Let’s do it. Now.”

The cameras rolled, Anderson introduced himself and briefly gloated about his scoop, then began. “First, thank you for sitting down with me.”

“My pleasure, Anderson.”

He started easy. “How’s your shoulder?”

“I won’t be winning any tennis matches for a few weeks,” she said with an indifferent shrug, “but overall I’m recovering well. Fortunately, my would-be assassin was a bad shot.”

“Are you on any painkillers?”

 _Ballsy._ “Fewer than most in my position, and if you’re asking if that affects my ability to rule, it doesn’t.”

“Am I allowed to ask you more difficult questions?”

Dany laughed, crossed her legs, and leaned back. “If I were afraid of difficult questions, I’d have had your head chopped off months ago.”

“Alright, then. Many of your subjects still resent you for taking away certain freedoms that they had before you took over. What would you say to those people?”

“And what freedoms are we talking about?”

“Let’s start with the freedom to choose their leaders.”

 _Alright, let’s do it._ Dany straightened her back. “The American people chose forty-five leaders over two hundred years,” she said, restraining a sigh and an eye roll. “Those leaders built a great empire and promptly ran it straight into the ground. If I were in their shoes, I’d be relieved.”

“What if you run the country into the ground?”

“I won’t.” Dany leaned forward and trapped his eyes in her death stare, keeping them there until she was sure the entire audience would notice the dead air.

Anderson shifted in his chair, clearly thrown off by her eyes, but pressed on nonetheless. “I’m sure, but what about your great-great-grandchild? Sooner or later, _someone_ in your line of succession will be incompetent or tyrannical.”

“Cersei Lannister was both, and she was chosen by the people,” Dany pointed out. “Andrew Jackson uprooted tens of thousands of Native Americans and moved them to a whole different part of the country because he found them inconvenient. FDR threw a hundred thousand loyal Americans in internment camps because they were Japanese. The first fourteen presidents allowed half the country to profit off the buying and selling of human beings until one of them finally started a war to stop it. That war killed half a million people, by the way, and some in the South still call Lincoln a tyrant. And once that was over, it took another hundred years before the Jim Crow laws were abolished. Shall I continue?”

“But they--”

“I think I’ll continue. We’ve had presidents who thought they could pay for wars by cutting taxes; wars that for the most part, we had no business fighting in the first place. We’ve had presidents who opposed a single national currency. We’ve had _my father_ , who won by even bigger margins than Cersei. Should we talk about him?”

“But again, they--” _You don’t know when you’re getting dunked on, do you?_

“Tyranny and incompetence are not exclusive to monarchies. Period.” Another death stare, which Cooper deftly avoided.

“But can you at least understand the concern?” he asked. “America was founded on the idea that monarchy is bad. Kids in school have been taught that for generations from a very young age.”

“Oh, I understand completely” Dany insisted. “I was raised to believe that, too.” _Then I started reading the news._ “I’m not asking my subjects to trust me blindly. I’m asking quite the opposite. They should watch me. Closely. Then watch their bank accounts and their pensions. Then watch their children grow up safer, healthier, and better-educated than anyone before them. Watch what happens when someone finally brings _order_ to this country.”

“Let’s talk about foreign policy.”

“Gladly.”

“The British used to be one of our closest allies. Now they’re thinking about going to the UN and imposing sanctions against us. Their Prime Minister Lysa Arryn has called you the single greatest threat to the Western world since Hilter.” _Not him again._ “The Queen of England herself has said--” _Not her again._

“I don’t concern myself with the opinion of Elizabeth Windsor,” she answered flatly.

“According to you, she’s squatting in your palace. Should she be concerned?”

 _Not yet._ “I have enough on my hands as it is right now.” Dany did understand that the optics of executing a nonagenarian woman and her photogenic family were less than ideal, so she planned instead to simply ‘downgrade them to Kardashians,’ which in her opinion they had already done to themselves.

“You said ‘right now,’ but your reign could last another fifty years.” _Sixty. I eat a lot of kale._ “And you took over two countries out of the clear blue sky in barely a year. Do you have designs on the United Kingdom?”

 _Yes._ “No.”

“What about Canada?”

“No.” _Bermuda is cheaper and easier._

“You’re saying this on the record.” He looked her straight in the eyes, and this time she let him.

“On the record.” _Records scratch._

“Another issue: you recently purchased North Korea and established it as a self-governing American protectorate.”

She smiled proudly. “It was a steal.”

“And you did it seemingly on a whim.”

“I don’t do anything on a whim, Anderson.” _Except for the occasional rape and murder._

“Still, it’s unprecedented.”

 _Do I have to school you in history again?_ “No, it’s not. We purchased a third of the lower forty-eight from Napoleon. We purchased Alaska from the Russians. We purchased Florida from Spain. We purchased Hawaii from their own government.”

“Unprecedented in modern times, then,” he conceded.

Dany adjusted her crown and smiled. “You should get used to that.”

“Let’s go back to domestic policy. You were nearly assassinated a few weeks ago.”

“I remember.” She said it sardonically for the camera, but the memory was still vivid, and no laughing matter to her.

“So was your husband.”

“Correct.”

“So let's say, God forbid, you were both to die. The Crown would pass to your daughter.”

Dany finished the thought for him. “That would leave an infant in charge of the country, is that what you’re getting at?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, that’s what I’m getting at.”

“In that event, my advisors would choose a regent who would rule in her name until she comes of age.”

“How would this regent be chosen?”

“Ideally, by consensus. Failing that, a vote.”

“A vote?” He looked at her like he finally had her on the ropes.

Dany laughed. “It’s a bug, not a feature.”

“And this is the law of the land?”

“I said it, didn’t I? It’s the law of the land.” _That’s how this shit works, now._

“And if your daughter should die before she came of age?”

That was the first thing he’d said that Dany found genuinely unsettling, but she did her best to hide it and smiled flirtatiously. “We should get working on another, then.” _He’s right, though. Those birth control pills are going straight down the toilet._

“Tyrion Lannister, the Governor General of Iraq.”

“Yes.” _Fuck, yes. Let’s talk about Tyrion._

“His cousin masterminded the plot against you.”

“He did. I also deposed his sister.”

“Given his close personal connection to your enemies, do you have any question about his loyalty?”

 _He has a close personal connection to his own asshole, too._ “Actually, Lord Tyrion and I just finished a private strategy session on Iraq. He understands quite clearly what kind of person I am and what my plans are. He’s fully on board with me; I have no doubt.”

“Has the shooting changed you at all?”

“Of course,” said Dany. “It’s taught me that life is precious, and--”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but that’s an uncharacteristically trite answer.”

“Alright, then. Here’s something more characteristic. I have a vision for this country, and it goes beyond my own vanity or some vague notion of ‘greatness.’ My subjects deserve a competent government for once, and the only way to make that happen is to eliminate the whimsy of democratic politics from the process. The true enemies of the people are those who would put that whimsy back. _They’re_ the vain ones. They’re the ones who would return to power the most backward among us; who would take roads, schools, and hospitals from where they’re needed to where they’re not; who would govern based on narrow-minded selfishness and baseless fear. And if this experience has taught me anything, it’s that I’m not done fighting for that vision, and I’m not fighting for it hard enough. I intend to see it through, and I will.”

Off camera, Missandei waved to get Cooper’s attention and made a ‘cut’ gesture.

“I believe we’re out of time. Thank you again for sitting down with me, Your Majesty.”

“Any time.”

The minute the cameras were off, Missandei emerged from the periphery. “Your Majesty, we need to go. _Now._ ” Her tone of voice made clear it was urgent. She led Dany downstairs to the Situation Room, where Varys awaited her.

“It appears Lancel Lannister has made some friends,” the spy chief began, sitting at the center of the conference table and not even bothering to stand when she entered.

“Who?” Dany asked, unsurprised. _Drug lords, naturally._ They were the most logical friends to make for a wealthy fugitive in Mexico.

“Canadians.”

That was more surprising, but not entirely out of the blue. As a member of the British Commonwealth, Canada had reacted warily when their neighbor to the south was taken over by a woman who considered that Commonwealth her personal property. They took care not to provoke her, but beefed up their defense spending and tightened their border significantly. Still, the notion that Canada had the balls to actively undermine the American government seemed silly.

“And how, precisely, did this friendship blossom?”

“For plausible deniability, the Canadian government secretly contracted with a white supremacist group called the Aryan Guard to travel to Mexico and meet with Lancel Lannister. They plan to smuggle themselves back into America and launch attacks from the inside.”

“So they want to convince my subjects to turn on me for an army of Nazis and pedophiles?”

“The idea is to preoccupy you with domestic matters so you’ll leave the rest of the world alone.”

Dany laughed. _Nah, I’m not gonna do that._ “And who’s the leader of this merry band of freedom fighters?”

“We know very little about him,” Varys replied, “but his name is Ramsay Bolton.”


	16. Yara I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pure smut, and does little to nothing to advance the plot. Enjoy :)

The cell door slammed shut, and Yara awaited her fate. _What could they possibly think I did?_

Yara was as loyal to Daenerys as they got, and they seemed to be on a wavelength as people. As a reward for her role in the coup, Dany had put Yara in charge of the Navy, and as they saw each other more, they developed a friendship, albeit an unfortunately platonic one. _Did I take too many liberties with her when we hooked up?_ But that was months ago. _And she didn’t seem to mind at the time._

It couldn’t be the assassination plot. _Can it?_ She barely knew Lancel Lannister even existed beforehand; there was no way they’d think she was involved in that. But whatever they thought she did, it warranted the Secret Service busting down her door at three in the morning, throwing her into the back of an unmarked van, and taking her straight to solitary confinement in a freezing cell. The rest of her cell block was empty, which seemed like a bad sign.

After pacing nervously around her cell for about an hour, Yara heard three sets of footsteps and a woman speaking in a patrician New England accent. _Whatever she’s going to do, she’s at least going to do it herself._ Yara could respect that.

The footsteps got louder until Daenerys appeared in front of her on the other side of the bars, [wearing](https://imgur.com/9pjqYhm) sneakers with black jeans, a tank top, and black jacket draped over her shoulders. In one hand was one of those gaudy handbags that straight girls loved so much, and clipped onto her pants was a short [cattle prod](https://imgur.com/a/88dmMLI).

The look on her face made the cell even colder. Behind her were two guards; one was a beast of a man carrying a [Saint Andrew’s Cross](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Andrew%27s_Cross_\(BDSM\)) on his shoulder like a smaller man might carry a sack of mulch. The other was smaller, with a rifle strapped over his shoulder and a vape pen in his mouth. _He’s that Native American guy._ The smaller one unlocked the cell door for Dany to enter.

_Try to reason with her. It can’t make it any worse._ Yara took a knee, but Dany cut her off before she could speak.

“Are you proposing to me?” Dany asked disdainfully, placing the cattle prod under Yara’s chin and lifting Yara’s eyes to meet her own. They were terrifying, and something about them was unnatural. _That’s not just inbreeding,_ though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it really was.

“No, Your Majesty. I just--”

“Then you should be on _both_ knees, begging for your miserable life. I know you were involved in the murder plot. Give me one reason why I should let you live, I dare you.”

Yara got on both knees, but rather than beg, tried to plead innocence. “What are you talking about? I had nothing to do with that, I swear! I risked my life to put you on your throne, what would I have to gain from trying to kill you?!”

Dany sighed. “You tell me. Money? Maybe they blackmailed you?”

“Your Majesty, I don’t even know why I’m here! Why do you think I--”

“Oh, we have mountains of evidence,” Dany replied.

Yara laughed a sick, desperate laugh. “What evidence?”

“I don’t have to tell you that, and I won’t.” Dany turned to the big guard. “Bring in the cross.”

The guard bent down and entered the cell, pulling a kickstand from the back of the cross and setting it up in the middle of the floor.

“Tie her up.”

Instinctively, Yara slid away from the cattle prod and toward the back wall, but Dany didn’t seem to care; she simply clipped it back onto her pants. The two guards stepped around their Queen and grabbed Yara’s arms. The larger one held her in place while the smaller one stripped her, then they both dragged her toward the cross. _Don’t resist,_ she decided as they strapped her in. _Die with dignity._

Dany gave Yara the once-over, then stepped forward, squeezing Yara’s breasts together and kissing each nipple softly. _Oh, Jesus Christ, if you want to kill me, just kill me._

The smile on Dany’s face was deranged, plain and simple. “Is it cold in here, or do nipples get hard from a guilty conscience?”

_Die with dignity. Die with dignity. Die with dignity._ “With respect, Your Majesty, I don’t have a guilty conscience. I’m innocent of whatever you think I did.”

Dany sighed and stuck out her left hand. “Whip.” A [cat o’ nine tails](https://imgur.com/a/JPywD) appeared in her hand, given to her by one of the guards behind the cross. She drew her arm back andlashed backhanded across Yara’s breasts. “Confess.”

Yara seethed but gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming. _Don’t give her the satisfaction._ In truth, a tiny part of her enjoyed it. Were it not for the fact that she was about to die for something she didn’t do, that part might not have been so tiny. She looked into Dany’s eyes and kept her gaze there, refusing to back down no matter how terrifying they were. “I won’t confess to something I didn’t do.”

Unimpressed, Dany gave her another lash from the other direction. “Confess.”

The pain was blinding, but not so bad as to overcome her will. “No,” Yara answered coldly.

Another backhand, much harder than the first. “ _Confess!_ ”

“ _No!_ ” She shouted louder and more angrily than she expected. “Are you going to kill me for something I didn’t do? If you are,just get it over with. After everything I’ve done for you, give me that one courtesy in return.”

Dany tossed the cat o’ nine tails aside and unclipped the cattle prod from her pants. “So we’re bargaining, are we?” She stepped forward and rubbed the prod slowly between Yara’s legs _._ “Fine, I’ll kill you. But I’m going to make it hurt.”

_Fine, make it hurt. Once it’s over, it’s over._ “Do your worst, then.”

“Gladly.” Dany slid two fingers between the lips of Yara’s cunt, teasing it for a minute, then dragged them up to her clit, massaging it in slow, gentle circles. “Get wet, traitor. Lube yourself up for your own death.”

_Do it,_ Yara begged her body. _You’re going to die; you might as well do it with a wet cunt._ She felt her heart rate quicken, and her legs start to quiver. She exhaled deeply as her pussy tingled and began to flood itself. Dany replaced her fingers with the tip of the cattle prod and pressed it inside, forcing a gasp from Yara’s mouth.

She smiled and turned to the larger of her two guards. “Hold her eyes open so she can see how _fucking_ turned on I get when I murder her.” The guard stood behind Yara and pulled her eyebrows toward the top of her head, forcing her to keep her eyes open. Dany smiled into Yara’s eyes and pulled the trigger on the cattle prod.

Nothing happened.

Holding the cattle prod in place, Dany pulled the trigger again.

Nothing happened.

A smile crept onto Dany’s face as Yara trembled in front of her. _Why is she smiling?_ The execution had gone embarrassingly wrong.

Dany only smiled more, then pulled out the cattle prod, pressed the tip against the palm of her hand, and squeezed the trigger again. And again, and again, and again.

Nothing happened.

Finally, a snicker slipped through her smile. “God, you are so _gullible!_ ”

_Oh, you fucking cunt._ Yara thrashed at the restraints. “Get me the fuck off of this thing, that wasn’t funny!”

By then, Dany had doubled over in laughter. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus, the look on your face!” She wiped a tear from her eye and composed herself. “Do you remember what happened the last time we were alone together?” _Oh, I remember._ It was at Langley, before the coup. “What did you call me? ‘Sailor’s whore?’ ‘Pussy bitch?’ I told you I’d be ready for you next time. Consider this my revenge.”

“You’re an evil little bitch, did you know that?!”

Dany patted her cheek. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Take these straps off, and I’ll show you.”

“Let her down,” Dany commanded her guards, “then get the fuck out.”

“She looks pissed,” said the bigger one.

“That’s the point.” Dany threw her jacket aside and took off her shirt and bra. “Let her down.” _And your tits are perfect, too. It just gets worse and worse with you._

The smaller guard took a drag of his Juul. “It’s the One Percent, man. This is what they do.”

The big guard undid Yara’s straps and let her down gracefully onto the floor.

Dany waved both guards away, kicked her shoes off and shook herself out of her pants, smiling wickedly the whole time.

_Don’t give her what she wants,_ Yara thought. But that body was just too perfect. Petite with just enough curves to trap the eye into following every contour. Her breasts had swollen a bit since the last time, which only made them more appealing. _Don’t give her what she wants, but take what you do._

Yara stepped forward. “Fuck you.”

Dany backed up, still smiling. “You’re the last person in the world with the balls to talk to me like that, you know.”

“Fuck. You.”

“That’s right, fuck me. Come over here and do it.” Dany finally hit the back wall of the cell. “ _Fuck me._ ”

Yara lunged forward and pinned Dany’s shoulders against the wall, planting a rough, deep kiss on her lips and sliding her tongue straight into Dany’s mouth. Dany grunted into the kiss and jumped up, wrapping her legs around Yara’s waist. Yara could feel Dany’s heat and wetness grinding against her lower abdomen, which made her start to tingle as well.

From nowhere, Dany broke the kiss and smacked her in the face. “Dyke.” Yara knew Dany was no homophobe and only meant to provoke her, but it worked. Yara slapped back, disproportionately hard. Dany sighed and purred. “Do that again.”

Yara gladly obliged, slapping her on the other cheek, hard enough to leave a hand-shaped welt. Dany quickly hit her back. _Is this The Three Stooges or are we fucking?_ She grabbed Dany’s wrist before her palm could land again, and pressed it against the wall. Dany took her other hand and wrapped it around the back of Yara’s neck. _That’s it. Give it up, bitch._

But Dany wasn’t done being a little shit. She Yara’s lip and tugged it toward her, sucking it into her mouth. _Fuck this._ Yara broke away and moved to Dany’s neck instead. That caught her off guard, and Dany leaned her head back, exposing more of it. _There’s my good little slut._ Yara pressed her advantage, sealing her lips around the side of Dany’s neck and sucking, pressing her tongue against her skin, flicking it with the tip. Dany gasped and arched her back, wrapping her legs tighter around Yara’s waist. _Oh, you like that?_

Yara slid her arms around Dany’s waist and stepped backward, carrying her to the cell’s austere but adequate bed and tossing her down onto it. _On your back, where you belong._ Dany opened her legs and slid a hand between them, looking up at Yara and biting her lower lip with that same evil grin. Yara knelt at the foot of the bed and grabbed Dany’s ankles, pulling her closer, but Dany turned herself to dead weight, refusing to come along.

“Bitch, come here,” Yara gowled.

“No!” Dany protested, just to be difficult.

With no patience for such bullshit, Yara crawled onto the bed and slid her head between Dany’s thighs, planting a kiss on the hood of her clit. She looked up at Dany, smiled, and whispered, “I said, come here.”

Dany propped herself up on her elbows, making her slightly easier to drag. Yara grabbed each of her thighs just above the knee and yanked her back toward the edge of the bed. _I said HERE._ With her mouth still inches from Dany’s cunt, Yara took two fingers and slid them gently inside.

“Feel good?”

Dany responded only by sliding herself closer. _Yeah, that’s right, it does feel good. Your body can’t hide from me._

“Mmm, good.” Yara brought her mouth closer, stuck her tongue out, then quickly withdrew it along with her fingers and gave Dany a quick, firm smack right on the pussy. “ _Fuck you._ ” Dany let out a plaintive moan. “You think I’m about to give you head after you punk me like that?” She smacked her again, harder.

As Dany reeled, Yara moved to the side of the bed, planting one hand firmly on her throat. Dany had instinctively closed her legs, but Yara pried her knees apart and smacked her once more. “Did I say you could close your legs?!”

Dany looked up at her, eyes alight with lust, and opened her legs wide. “Do it again. Harder.”

_Done._ Yara gave her the harder smack she asked for, then rubbed violently, quickly finding her palm and fingers soaked with Dany’s wetness. “You’re a spoiled cunt, you know that?” she asked as she rubbed.

“Uh huh…” Dany was finally beginning to lose herself in the pleasure.

“You need somebody to knock you off that pedestal.” She hit her again. “Don’t you?”

Dany nodded but looked up defiantly and hissed. “ _Harder._ ”

_Yeah, you need it bad._ Yara obliged, finally yielding a yelp and a seethe from Dany. “But you knew that already.” Another smack. “You _want_ that. That’s why you got me out of bed and dragged me here, isn’t it?”

Yara knew she was neither the hottest woman in the world, nor the richest, nor the best educated. She could lead, but she could never run a country. But she didn’t need any of that. _Leave all that to this little slut on the bed._ She could, however, run the shit out of a navy and a woman’s vagina, Daenerys Targaryen’s in particular.

Dany squirmed and grabbed two of Yara’s fingers, trying to pull them inside her. _Nope._ Yara grabbed her hair with the other hand and locked eyes with her. _Caught off guard, were we?_

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Dany shrugged mischievously and tugged at Yara’s fingers, almost succeeding in getting them inside her. But Yara pulled them away and pressed her palm flat against Dany’s cunt.

“Grind.” Too weak to stop herself and too powerless to do anything else, Dany began to grind her pussy against Yara’s hand. _That’s better._ “Close your eyes.” Dany obeyed. With her other hand, Yara slid two fingers into Dany’s mouth. “Suck. Show me how you suck your husband’s cock like the slut you are.”

Dany purred, grinding and sucking at the same time. Her back arched and her nipples hardened, and Yara could feel the same happening to her clit. The way her stomach and breasts heaved as her hips rolled made it seem like a wave was rippling through her body. She sucked softly, peacefully, as if she’d forgotten how to do anything else. _And you think you’re the most powerful woman in the world._

“You want to come, little slut?”

Dany nodded silently, save for a moan.

“You want my fingers? My tongue?”

That got another nod, and a moan, and a little wiggle.

“Then grind that slutty pussy. I’ll tell you when you’ve earned it.”

Dany ground harder but kept her pace slow, taking Yara’s fingers deeper into her mouth. Her cunt got hotter and almost slippery.

“That’s it,” Yara said softly, almost lovingly. “Just like that. You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

Her Majesty nodded again.

“Not a spoiled little cunt.”

She shook her head no.

“Good girls are grateful for what they get. They ask nicely for more. Can you ask nicely, like a good girl?”

“Mhm,” Dany replied before moaning onto Yara’s fingers.

Yara pulled her palm away and slid her fingers out of Dany’s mouth. “Say it.”

“Fingers, please,” Dany whispered, not bothering to open her eyes.

Yara gave her a quick but firm slap on the cunt. Dany whimpered and ground her hips like the little whore she secretly was.

“Say it again.”

“Please put your fingers inside me,” Dany said softly through labored breaths. “Please, _please_ , I need it…”

Yara finally obliged and slid her fingers in slowly, but firmly and deeply, stroking, searching for Dany’s favorite spots. She worked Dany’s clit with her thumb, up and down, side to side, then in small circles until she found what made her the weakest.

Dany writhed on the table, moaning tortured, helpless moans. _That’s right. I don’t care what else you are; you’re mine._ She pressed her fingers against Dany’s upper wall, sliding them back and forth faster, just a second before Dany was ready for it.

It caught her off guard, and Dany gasped. “Shit...oh, _fuck_.” She scratched her nails against the mattress then put her arms above her head, gripping the edge of the bed as her body succumbed to Yara’s fingers. Yara smiled and jammed them in harder, watching her undulate from her hips straight up her back.

Yara put her other hand on Dany’s throat and pressed just hard enough to make its presence known. Dany sighed and moaned again, barely acknowledging it, lost in the sensations below. So Yara squeezed harder, closing her thumb and forefinger around either side of Dany’s windpipe. Dany looked up with a rare hint of fear in her eyes, then leaned her head back to expose her neck even further. _Yup. Mine._

“That’s my good girl,” Yara smiled. “We’ll make a whore of you yet. And that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes, please.” Dany slid herself closer to Yara’s fingers. Yara let her. _That’s it. Come here and let me use that pussy._

Yara stroked harder against Dany’s g-spot, drawing her even closer. She sped up, sending Dany’s legs into an aimless, spastic fit. Dany’s moans got louder as she was plainly getting closer to the edge. As Dany’s pussy started to pulse, Yara pulled her fingers out and gave it another slap. Dany thrust her hips at the empty air and made a pouty little grunt.

_Still too spoiled._ “Not until I say so.”

Dany thrashed about, looking for something to do to please Yara enough to earn the privilege of coming. Yara took the fingers that had just been inside her and slid them into Dany’s mouth. “Taste yourself.”

“Mmmm…” Excited at the opportunity, Dany sucked eagerly on Yara’s fingers, circling them with her tongue, taking them deep into the back of her throat. _No gag reflex,_ Yara noticed, smiling to herself. _I bet that comes in handy for a slut like you._

Yara withdrew her fingers again and reinserted them into Dany’s cunt, stroking faster than before and working her clit harder. “ _Now_ you can come for me. Nice and hard. Do it, slut. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Not quite ready, Dany tried to appease her by moaning and squirming like a porn star about to fake it. _You think I’m an idiot?_

Yara squeezed her throat harder. “Is that what you need? A little choke before you come? Is that what a twisted little whore you are?”

Dany’s body began to shake; her clit throbbed and pulsed, and her pussy clenched around Yara’s fingers. _Guess the answer is yes._

“Who owns this pussy?” Yara asked as Dany’s body twisted and jerked around in the throes of pleasure.

“You do!” Dany opened her eyes and looked straight into Yara’s. “ _You do! You own my pussy!_ ”

“Then come on my fucking fingers. _Now!_ ”

Dany screamed again and surrendered, releasing herself onto Yara’s fingers, slamming against them with all her strength and instantly soaking them. She curled her toes and kicked the mattress with her heels, and shouted, “Fuck, fuck, _FUCK!!_ ” at the top of her lungs as her chest surged and fell with quick but deep breaths.

When it was over, Yara moved to mount Dany’s face before she could regain her bearings. “I’m gonna get mine now,” she announced as she hovered over Dany’s face, grabbing a fistful of her silver hair to ensure she had her attention. “And you’re gonna give it to me, aren’t you, little slut?”

Dany nodded. “Mhm.” A glint of mischief flickered in her eyes. _Don’t try anything stupid._

The silent warning seemed to work. Dany slid her tongue dutifully inside as Yara pressed her pussy against her face. Yara rolled her hips and moaned, closing her eyes and losing herself. _You eat more pussy than you let on,_ she thought, as Dany teased her clit with soft flicks of her tongue.

She pressed herself closer against Dany’s face and began to grind faster. Dany moaned beneath her, sending the vibrations onto her clit. Yara moaned back as Dany sped up.

“You _are_ my little pussy bitch, aren’t you?” _You always knew you were._

Dany sighed and nodded again, pressing her lips around Yara’s clit and sucking, gently at first, then harder. _Fuck, that’s good._ She dragged her tongue against it, taking the hood back and forth with it. Yara’s moans got louder, and she grabbed her breasts, squeezing them together, pinching and tugging on her nipples, letting the pleasure collide inside her body with what Dany was giving her. Dany seemed to sense her getting closer and licked faster, sucking harder.

The edge was in sight. Yara began to thrust more recklessly, but Dany kept up and grabbed her ass, digging her nails in as if to urge Yara further. She threw her head back and closed her eyes as a scream left her mouth and echoed off the walls of the cell. Then another scream, louder and higher in pitch. Then another. _Fuck yes, make me come, pussy bitch._

Then it stopped cold. Dany retracted her tongue into her mouth and shut it. Her eyes were closed too, as if she could somehow hide from Yara’s gaze. _Fine, we’ll do it the hard way — bratty little cunt._ Yara grabbed Dany’s hair in her fists again and clenched them tightly. “Did I tell you to stop?!”

But the look in Dany’s eyes when she finally opened them was not the fear she expected. Instead, it was that cold, impenetrable stare of hers that could terrify anyone. She began to sit up, like a vampire rising from a coffin, as if Yara and her pussy and fists weren’t even there.

Caught by surprise, Yara slid back and let her sit up. Dany pressed one hand onto Yara’s chest and pushed her back onto her elbows. Suddenly Dany was looming over her.

“Now _you_ beg,” she snarled, narrowing her eyes.

_Nuh-uh,_ Yara thought. _Not that easy._ She slapped her Queen in the face and smiled up defiantly. “No.”

Stone-faced, Dany slapped back, spat, and pinned Yara’s wrists above her head. “Do that again, and I’ll have your hands chopped off.” There wasn’t even the slightest hint of playfulness in her tone. _Is she serious?_ She hadn’t been serious earlier, but that was earlier. _She’s fucking crazy, do you really want to take the risk?_

Yara relaxed her body, hoping Dany would take it as a gesture of at least temporary submission. It appeared to work.

“Spread your legs,” Dany commanded. _She just threatened to chop your hands off, don’t reward her._ But she did it anyway, before she could stop herself. Dany jammed two fingers into Yara’s wet cunt and began to stroke. _Goddamnit, she’s good at that._ “Beg.”

At first, Yara couldn’t muster the words; she merely moaned and closed her eyes, trying to stop herself from sliding back to the edge of orgasm.

“How long do you think you can pretend not to want it? _Beg!_ ” Dany stroked slower but harder at the same time, as if to set the rhythm of Yara’s body for her.

“Fuck,” Yara prefaced her begging as if that would save her a modicum of pride. “Please...I want to come, please…”

“No.” Dany stood and made for her handbag on the floor near the Saint Andrew’s cross. “I’d advise against moving a muscle, dear. You're no longer in a position to question me.”

Yara laid there as still as she could. Dany came back with a black dildo with a bulbous base and a remote-controlled, gold-plated, U-shaped [vibrator](https://imgur.com/a/z77RNXR) designed to stimulate both of a woman’s most sensitive spots at the same time. She stood at the foot of the bed, snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor in front of her.

“Kneel,” Dany barked as she inserted the bulbous end of the dildo into herself.

Yara turned around. Dany’s eyes were that freakish, inhuman shape again. _You should kneel._ Almost as scared as she’d been when they’d first thrown her in the cell, she slipped off the foot of the bed and did as she was told.

“Knees apart.”

Yara quickly corrected herself. Wordlessly and with no warning, Dany bent down, plugged Yara’s cunt with the U-shaped vibrator and turned it on with the remote. Yara let out a long, deep moan as it massaged her clit and her g-spot at the same, quickly finding herself right back on the edge. Just as quickly, and again with no warning, Dany turned it off. _God, she’s a bitch. And she loves it._

“Do you remember my last words to you at Langley? I said next time I’d be ready for you.”

Before Yara could answer, Dany turned on the vibrator again. Yara bit her tongue to distract herself from the pleasure, but it was useless.

Dany took a step forward, grabbed Yara’s hair, and pulled head onto the dildo. “Suck it.”

_It’s been a while,_ Yara thought, but she went to work anyway. The vibrator went to work as well, spreading the pleasure from her cunt through her whole body, making it buzz, making every nerve more sensitive and erogenous.

“You didn’t really think you were calling the shots earlier, did you?” Dany guided Yara by the back of her head, setting her own rhythm, thrusting at her own strength and depth. _Relax your jaw and take it._ “I’ve been calling the shots since I threw you in this prison cell, and I’m calling them now.” _She’s right._ All that begging and cunt-slapping was nothing more than Dany’s whim; a fleeting desire to give up control for a moment because it amused her to do so.

Yara moaned onto Dany’s cock and sucked harder, sensing that’s what Her Majesty wanted. Dany seemed to like that and thrust faster and deeper until Yara’s gag reflex finally kicked in. That made her giggle.

“Enough.” Dany finally pulled out and pressed a button on the bottom of her dildo, making it vibrate as well. “You want me to make you come? Fine, I’ll make you come until you can’t stand it anymore.” She pointed to the bed again. “Bend over.”

_Those are the two most dangerous words in this woman’s vocabulary._ As Yara obeyed, Dany ran her fingertips down Yara’s spine and lined up her cock with Yara’s puckered ass, teasing it with the head. The sensation only paralyzed Yara more and forced a loud, deep moan out of her.

“Knock me off my pedestal all you want,” Dany said as she slowly inserted herself, digging her nails into Yara’s ass, “I claw my way back to the top every time.” At first, Yara was grateful that Dany started off easy. _Not a guarantee with her,_ she suspected. But the gratitude soon turned to a helpless fury as the cock gradually filled her, buzzing inside her as the vibrator did the same in her pussy. Dany smacked her on the ass. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

“No,” Yara replied. “No, no, no.” It was both a promise and a plea for mercy. Dany seemed not to care either way and pushed herself in deeper, turning up the speed on the vibrator at the same time. Yara suddenly found herself pushing back toward Dany’s hips, taking the cock deeper inside, letting it fill her and press closer to the vibrator.

The feeling blinded her and took away her words, and Yara was reduced to a moaning, quivering mass of conquered flesh. Dany had barely gotten through her first few thrusts when Yara felt her cunt start to twitch. _Already?_ She bit her lip to hold back the scream, but her body had already betrayed her. _Don’t try to stop yourself, just give in._ With that, Yara relaxed her body, only for it to instantly seize back up as she passed her point of no return. She let her next scream pass her lips without resistance, and gripped the edge of the mattress, pushing her body backward until Dany was all the way inside her.

Dany laughed and smacked her on the ass as Yara hit her peak. “Don’t you dare stop backing that ass up, whore.” She pulled Yara back until her hips slapped loudly against Yara’s ass, just to drive her point home. “You’re not nearly done yet.”

The instant Yara began to relax, Dany turned up the speed on the vibrator. _Oh, God. Oh, fuck._ Her clit was raw and sensitive, but the vibrator was relentless. _You’re not tied up, just reach back and take it out,_ her rational side suggested. But something stopped her. _No. Come for her again._ Legs still heavy and shaking, Yara let the side of her face hit the mattress and offered her body for more torture.

“What did Varys say about power?” Dany asked as she scratched her nails down Yara’s back. “That it resides where people think it does?”

Yara was in no position to answer, and didn’t. _I don’t fucking care; this is too good._

“A nice saying, but he must have coined it before he met me.” She began to thrust faster, and let out a moan herself. “Power resides where _I_ say it resides, and it resides with me. Always.” She smacked Yara’s ass again. “ _Always._ Do you understand me?”

Yara mustered the wherewithal to nod. _Everything this woman does is a five-dimensional chess move,_ she realized. _This is about more than sex._ What that was, she couldn’t say; her measly mind was focused on the sex.

As was Dany’s, it seemed, at least for the time being. Her thrusts grew harder and more ruthless as she grunted in pleasure and exertion. Every time she pulled Yara backward was rougher and more reckless than the last. A stream of curses flew from her mouth as her grunts turned to screams.

_She’s going to rip my ass in half,_ Yara warned herself. But the two toys vibrating inside her made her want it. _Fuck, yes, rip it in half._ Her legs went weak, and she gripped the mattress to hold herself in place; her pussy still sore from the first orgasm but once again spasming and clenching around the vibrator. Her ass locked itself around Dany’s cock as the pleasure overcame her for a second time. She threw her head back and shrieked loud enough to hurt her ears, then melted again, all over the vibrator and all over her thighs.

Dany, however, was just getting started. Yara looked back to find her teeth gritted, her face red, and a maniacal, predatory look in her eyes. _She fucks like a man,_ Yara realized. _A man twice her size, and angry._ The closer Dany got to her own peak, the more she treated Yara’s ass like her personal playtoy. She roared like a monster when she reached it, pulling Yara’s ass back and holding it there for each thrust, like she was actually planting her seed.

“Does it hurt yet?” Dany asked as she finally pulled out.

Yara groaned, hoping that would satisfy her.

“Good.” Dany turned the vibrator up to what Yara hoped was its maximum speed. All she could feel between her legs was a strange, sore numbness. Dany stepped away for a moment. _Take it out,_ Yara insisted to herself. _Take the goddamn vibrator out! Tell her you’ve had enough!_ But she just couldn’t do it. So she stayed there, ass in the air, head swimming in orgasmic bliss as her body fell deeper into agony.

Dany returned with the cat o’ nine tails she’d used earlier, and shook it playfully in Yara’s face before moving behind her and commencing the beating. “To alleviate any confusion, you don’t own my pussy.” The tips of the whip stung her already red and welted ass, but Yara kept it just where it was, too terrified and enraptured to move it. “My pussy owns you.” _Truth._

Another lash came, then another, then another. The pain mixed with the intense tingling from the vibrator to meld into one mind-shredding feeling. Yara made a noise somewhere between a groan of agony, a moan of ecstasy and a scream for help she knew would never come. The beating put her into a strange high, almost like she was outside her body. _Stay here. Your body’s no place to be right now._

Suddenly she found herself on the edge of another cliff. _No, no, no. Enough. Just stop it._ But for the first time, she recognized the feeling that prevented her from simply removing the vibrator and putting a stop to it. _Fear._ Dany was a woman who got her way, always, and destroyed anything that stood athwart her. Yara fancied herself the same, but her own willpower against this woman was like a bug against a steamroller. The next orgasm felt less like jumping off a cliff and more like being shoved, which only made the sensation of flying that much scarier and more intense. Screaming and moaning didn’t do it justice; the sound she made was more an intoxicated but defeated whimper.

Then came a warning, whispered softly in her ear. “We’re not nearly done yet.” Then came a mouth. A perfectly placed, malicious, predatory mouth. It engulfed her cunt from behind and made her tremble again, waking every nerve that the vibrator had rendered numb. The warmth and wetness soothed her and terrified her at the same time, and Yara found herself on the verge of tears. She fought them back with the last ounce of strength she had left, but at the cost of yet another surrender of her body.

She lost count at the fourth one, partly from the pain and partly because she’d lost the faculties to count past four. But there were more, to be sure. Some from Dany’s mouth, others from her fingers, and more from the vibrator again. At some point Dany flipped her onto her back, sat on her face and clamped her nipples, tugging the chain between them harder and harder until Yara forced herself to come with her own hand as she serviced the Queen with her mouth.

By the time it was over, Yara was a base, broken whore, precisely what she’d meant to turn Dany into with a few strokes of her fingers what seemed like ages ago. Dany sat next to her on the mattress, tying her shoes and smiling at Yara like she’d just won a friendly game of chess.

“I hope you didn’t take any of that personally,” she said. “I do love it when you get the best of me, but I’d be remiss if I let you think that meant anything.” She leaned down and kissed Yara sweetly on the cheek. “Now let’s go, dear. We have a war to plan.”


End file.
